For the Love of the Lord of the White Tree
by Legolass Q
Summary: COMPLETE. Winner of MC Award for Story of the Year. The greatest of kings is overwhelmed by the weight of responsibility and the greatest of friendships is threatened by an unexpected challenge emerging from the shadows of the past.
1. A Matter of Trust

My first fanfic.

**Disclaimer**: All characters, events and places in my story that can be found in Tolkien's books are his; I am merely borrowing them. Everything else has sprung from my own imagination, or has been inspired by other writers' stories. To all these writers, I express my thanks.

This disclaimer applies to every chapter in this story.

**Summary:**

The greatest of kings can be overwhlemed by the weight of responsibility. The greatest of friendships can be threatened by an unexpected challenge emerging from the shadows of the past. Aragorn and Legolas face both trials.

* * *

CHAP 1: A MATTER OF TRUST

_Legolas found himself hovering in the air above everyone at the Council. It seemed he could see the tops of the tall trees of Imladris and the gossamer woven on the bushes surrounding the porch where the Council was being held. In the distance, the ford of Bruinen sang a mournful song. _

_But Legolas only had eyes for the members of the Council. _

_He saw Elrond, lord of Imladris, Galdor of the Havens, Erestor and Glorfindel and the other elves of Imladris, elven light in their features, looking tall and regal even when they were seated; he saw the Istari Mithrandir with a grave look in his wizened eyes, half-hidden beneath thick eyebrows, his lips unsmiling behind the white beard; there, too, were the hobbit Bilbo Baggins who had visited Mirkwood long ago, and Frodo his nephew, looking entranced and bewildered with what was going on; and there was the hobbit Sam with his curly brown mop of hair, hidden behind a bush, hoping to hear but not be seen. _

_Legolas' eyes fell on Gloin, his son Gimli and their fellow dwarves, seated with their stout legs apart and their thick beards hanging in between, looking impatient. Boromir, too, he saw, broad-shouldered Man of Gondor, with a grim expression. _

_Another Man was there: Aragorn, dark, dour Ranger of the North; heir of Isildur; future King of Gondor. Legolas' eyes rested on the serious face that hid a thousand emotions, and he felt only a sense of love and loyalty for this Man. _

_His eyes moved again and finally alighted on… himself, sent here by his father Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, with a message for Lord Elrond. He was sitting next to elves in green and brown who had accompanied him from the Realm. _

_No one saw him but he could see them all. For some reason, he was not surprised that he could see himself, as if it was the most natural thing to be able to look at himself from a distance. But he had been through this before… had he not? He knew exactly what would transpire next. They had been talking about the creature Gollum, who was desperately trying to seek and reclaim the One Ring of the Dark Lord that had been in his greedy little hands before he lost it to Bilbo, and how Aragorn and Mithrandir had captured the creature and left him in the hands of the elves of Mirkwood, who were asked to keep him captive . _

"_Alas! Alas!" Legolas heard his seated self cry, turning every face in the Council to where he was seated. In his face there was great distress. "The tidings that I was sent to bring must now be told. They are not good, but only here have I learnt how evil they may seem to this company." Everyone's attention was riveted on him now. It seemed like embarrassment was written all over his face as he declared to the whole group, "Smeagol, who is now called Gollum, has escaped."_

_There were loud gasps from almost everyone. Floating above them, Legolas watched as the elves exchanged looks and spoke quietly with furrowed brows; the dwarves sat up straighter, casting smug looks at the elves. Boromir looked curious, Mithrandir pursed his lips and Lord Elrond stared at Legolas without blinking. But Legolas focused on the look of dismay painted on the face of Aragorn, the Man for whom Legolas held only the highest regard, even hovering at a distance above him. _

"_Escaped?" cried the Ranger, looking incredulously at the seated Legolas. "That is ill news, indeed. We shall all rue it bitterly, I fear." Then came the line Legolas hated: "How came the folk of Thranduil to fail in their trust?" _

_There it was again, the accusing tone of the future King of Gondor thrown in the direction of the Mirkwood prince. Legolas, floating above, felt his seated self both wince with pain at the harsh words and bristle at the bluntness of the question, nay – it was not a question, it was a blatant pronouncement of utter disappointment in the elves of Mirkwood. He saw himself try to explain that they had not foreseen the cunning of Sauron, who had orchestrated Gollum's escape through an orc attack that left the creature's guards slain or taken. _

_Can you not understand? Legolas found himself empathizing with his seated self at the Council. We did not ask for the care of __Gollum. You brought him to us and asked us to keep him, and we did even though we wearied of the task. You did not tell us why it was so important to lock him up, we did not even know he was called Gollum – you told us his name was Smeagol. We did not know his part in the tale of the One Ring. We merely took pity on him, having shut him up in dark dungeons. Yes, dwarf Gloin, we locked you up too, but only for a few weeks, and we would not have kept you in the dark for long either. Smeagol had been in the dungeon for almost a year! The orcs must have watched our movements as we took him out each day. They planned the attack. _

_And have you forgotten? My friends – elves I knew and liked and was close to – were killed or brought away, no doubt to the South, to be tortured by the Necromancer in Dol Guldur. They died because Smeagol, Gollum, was there, at your bidding. My friends, my kin, died doing their duty. _

_Floating above everyone, Legolas tried to lend a voice, but could not. His self at the Council continued to tell them that they tried to find the creature, going further and further into the forest south of their realm. "But ere long, it escaped our skill, and we dared not continue the hunt; for we were drawing nigh to Dol Guldur, and that is still a very evil place, we do not go that way."_

_Aragorn did not look placated. But Mithrandir said, "Well, well, he is gone," adding that they had no time to look for him now; since he had escaped, Gollum would do what he would. But the foresight of the Istari pressed him to remind the Council, "he may yet play a part that neither he nor Sauron have foreseen." _

_Yes, yes, he did, Legolas wanted to shout out as he hovered above the group. I've been through the Quest, to the end. If Gollum had not been alive at the Cracks of Doom, he would not have taken the Ring from Frodo. Frodo was already overcome, he refused to throw the Ring into the consuming fire; Gollum, in his greed, took it and gloated and in his careless joy, blindly stepped over the edge and fell into the river of fire. Ask Sam, he saw it! Aragorn, Mithrandir, Frodo – you know this! There was a reason why Gollum lived – destiny knew. _

_No one heard him as he hovered above them. No one paid attention to him. Except for Aragorn, heir of Isildur. Slowly, almost eerily, the Man slowly turned his face up to fix steely grey eyes on him, and his face was at once dark with rage and bitter with disappointment. The future King of Gondor sent a message to him, with his mind rather than his voice: "But you failed. No matter the outcome, you failed to keep Gollum though I entrusted him to you. I entrusted him to you." _

_Then – without understanding why, it seemed like this had happened a hundred times before – Legolas felt his frustration turn to shame. Deep shame and disgrace. Aye, I concede. Aye, I have let you down. My respect and loyalty for you knows no bounds, but I have let you down. I wish I could turn back Time and make things different. We would not have brought Gollum out into the sunshine, we would not have let him climb the trees, we would not have let him be snatched from our hands. _

_But there was no turning back._

_The Man now used his voice, enunciating the words over and over again, and the words turned into a spear of fire which he hurled at Legolas:_

_How came the folk of Thranduil to fail in their trust? The folk of Thranduil… fail in their trust, fail in their trust, fail, fail, fail… _

_The burning spear, moving slowly and in a blur, came closer and closer toward him, and Legolas, with a cry of anguish, fled, pulling away higher and higher. All of a sudden, he stopped in mid-air and started to fall. Faster and faster he fell, and he tried to grasp at something, but there was nothing… nothing. Faster and faster and faster…_


	2. Watercolored memories

**CHAPTER 2: WATER-COLORED MEMORIES**

Legolas came awake with a start, eyes wide and heart pounding so hard in his chest he felt he could hear it. His hands were clutching the grass beneath him so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He leaned his head back against something, and after taking a few deep breaths, he closed his eyes.

Breathe, breathe, breathe. Slowly now. He reopened his eyes when he felt calmer, reminding himself where he was.

He was in South Ithilien. The sun was shining, he was sitting against a tree, and he had been assaulted by the nightmare – again. _Why do they call it a nightmare when one could dream it in broad daylight_, he wondered wryly. He was not in Imladris and he certainly had not been floating. The Council of Imladris had taken place eleven years ago. The Quest was over, Gollum had died, and Aragorn was now in the tenth year of his reign as King of Gondor.

Legolas sighed again. The embarrassment and regret he had felt at the Council had plagued him in nightmares throughout the Quest when he pondered on the possible consequences of Gollum's escape. After all, Aragorn had lamented, "We shall all rue it." Although part of him still argued that he and his friends had done their best, Aragorn's words still haunted him: "How came the folk of Thranduil to fail in their trust?" For a long time, Legolas wondered if Aragorn would ever trust him or the elves of Mirkwood again. After Sam told them about the part Gollum had played in the destruction of the ring, Legolas' guilt had been assuaged. Mithrandir was right – Gollum's escape had resulted in his playing a part, a critical part, in the downfall of Sauron. Sometimes things are meant to be for a reason, even if the reason is not clearly shown to us. And so the nightmares stopped.

But they had resurfaced with fresh vigour to plague him for several weeks now, and he did not understand why. Was it trying to tell him something, to expect something?

Finding no answers, Legolas shook his head and looked around him. It was peaceful here, so beautiful he felt the shadows of the unpleasant dream being chased away by the bright rays of the sun filtering through the leaves of the tall oaks and beeches around him. The trees reminded him of his other home, Mirkwood.

His other home, he mused. Well, the forests there were not so murky any more, he thought. After Lord Celeborn and his father had rid Dol Guldur of Sauron's darkness, they had renamed it Eryn Lasgalen, the Greenwood. Much better.

But Ithilien in Gondor was his home now, North Ithilien at least – since he had brought elves there to restore the woods to the fair place they had once been before Sauron's evil had filled them with sickness. His father had not been too pleased that his son would settle so far from him, but Thranduil had not given a direct command not to leave. So Legolas had left, for he had made a promise to help Aragorn restore Gondor, and he was willing to endure the displeasure of his father for the friend he had learned to cherish more than he thought possible. He would bring living things to Minas Tirith "for the love of the Lord of the White Tree", he mused; those were his words to the hobbits ten years ago, as they sat contemplating what would happen after the Quest should Aragorn successfully reclaim the throne.

And North Ithilien had indeed flourished again under the loving hands of the elves. Sitting almost at the doorstep of the city of Minas Tirith where the King and Queen dwelt, its life and breath seemed to flow even to the stone city that Gimli the dwarf had, on his part, helped restore. The thought of a living, growing forest, filled with gentle creatures and joyful trees filled Legolas with pleasure and delight. He had then turned his eyes to South Ithilien, desiring to do for it what he had done for the northern area.

South Ithilien held promise. It was further from the city, and they had to reach it by crossing the Anduin on a ferry or boat from the city of Pelargir on the northern shore, so he had to spend longer periods away from the Royal family. He missed seeing them, and they him, but it could not be helped if he wished to accomplish anything.

He and his Elves had been here several months now, scouting the area and working on clearing dead and rotting things left behind by orcs and Men who had worked for Sauron; they had had no love for beautiful things, they destroyed rather than nourished. Legolas and the elves had to plant new trees and coax the sick ones back to life, singing and talking to them, surrounding them with blossoms and filling their long-empty branches with birds, butterflies and golden dragonflies. Bit by bit, the elves lovingly cleaned the choked streams and created paths into glades and clearings long hidden by ugly weeds.

Huge areas further south still remained to be worked on, and one day, they too would be fair again, he determined, either by his hands or those of other elves.

But his mind was on something else at the moment, two tasks he needed to finish. Briefly, he cast his mind to a place about an hour's trek from where he was, and then to Pelargir on the banks of the Anduin.

Yes, I will finish them, he resolved.

Legolas ceased his musing and stood up, stretching his long, slender limbs as he did so. His eyes swept the scene around him. He had come across this beautiful spot one day, quickly claiming it in his heart as his haven in South Ithilien. He came here to rest and seek the quiet company of trees and water, when he wanted to get away from his labours and the stares of humans in Pelargir, who, in their ignorance of races other than Men, tolerated the presence of the elves only because their Lord was their King's closest friend. Legolas did not blame them, for the Elves were fading or leaving Middle Earth, and not many remained to walk freely among humans, so the Men were little exposed to the fair race. Men could not help admiring the agility and grace of the fair beings, and were entranced by their singing, but he could tell that they were still wary of them. Still, Legolas had to deal with them for supplies and food, though their conversations wearied him, and it was tiring to talk with people with whom he shared so little interest.

So this spot was his sanctuary. The elves of Mirkwood, now of Ithilien, quietly and willingly granted their prince his desire for some private moments. They loved their soft-spoken prince, for he was a fair leader and did not demand much for his own comfort, and so they discreetly kept away if they knew he had come here. Legolas was glad of that. Perhaps he was being a little selfish, he told himself candidly, but this was the one privilege he wanted for himself for as long as he could.

It was truly an unusual place. Before him was a pool with water as clear as glass, its water fed by a little waterfall tumbling down gently from some white rocks. The pool was wide enough to swim in, and deep enough where the waterfall met it, for diving. Surrounding the pool were tall oak and beech, which never seemed to lack for nightingales. The trees themselves seemed to sing sonorous songs about the earth and wind and ages past, and their leaves appeared a deeper green than anywhere else in South Ithilien. There was shadow and light here, playing in ever-changing hues. There was a raw beauty to this place that Legolas did not desire to disturb. He would not even create a clear path to this spot so that it would not be easily approached, preferring to access it by climbing a tall tree one hundred yards to the north from which he could see the spot, just as he did the first time he spied it, then jumping from tree to tree till he reached it. Yes, it was the perfect hideaway, he thought, smiling.

What he loved best about it was that a tall oak hung one strong branch right above the deep end of the pool, and from there, he could dive fifteen feet into the cool, fresh water, down, down, down into the glassy depths before turning and kicking his way back up to laugh an exultant laugh that only the trees would share.

He cast off his clothes and scaled the tree now, agile as a cat, and reached the diving branch with hardly any effort. He stood with outstretched arms for a moment, breathing deeply of the fresh air, and the nightingales watching saw a slender, lithe body the colour of ivory and porcelain, with lean muscles that belied their strength. His golden hair billowed behind him in the breeze and his fair face was a picture of contentment, long lashes fringing his closed eyes. Then the sparkling blue eyes opened and he dove in a graceful arc, entering the water with hardly a splash, slicing cleanly through the water of the glass pool, to emerge like a golden water nymph, his long hair neatly plastered to his shapely head and water streaming off his smiling face. He laughed a gentle laugh as he usually did, sharing his delight with the birds.

The elf floated on his back, watching the clouds float by in the azure sky, enjoying the sight of a few leaves floating down from the trees. He hummed softly a song of trees and wind, thinking of nothing unpleasant. Legolas sighed. If there were anyone he would want to share this place with… A sudden thought entered his mind, a memory of another breathtaking place like this one, with a crystal-clear pool hidden curtained by tall trees, in the forests of Mirkwood. There was a high ledge from which he could dive into it. He had swum in it for hundreds of years of his life, the pool seeming to get smaller and smaller as the years went by, but in reality, he was the one growing. Fondly, he recalled taking Aragorn there some sixty years ago, the second time the young Ranger had visited.

"_My father will be back this evening, Aragorn, and you will need to meet him for the evening meal," Legolas reminded him. Aragorn had arrived two hours ago and they had spent them sparring first, then – dressed only in their leggings – they wrestled on the grass, showing each other new moves amidst joyous laughter as only youthful bodies and good friends can. Legolas wrinkled his nose at the Ranger's disastrously disheveled hair, grimy face and torso speckled with dried mud. He knew he needed to clean up too, but not as desperately as Aragorn, to whom clung four days' worth of sweat and grime from his usual forage into the Wilds of the North. "You – we – will need to – um – make ourselves presentable first. A bath?" _

"_But I just got here," his friend protested, a look of dismay on his face. "Do I have to? So soon?"_

"_You look scruffy enough to be a doormat," Legolas stated with a laugh. "He will notice it, believe me." _

"_It's too soon for a bath, and I'm tired," Aragorn grumbled stubbornly. _

_Legolas sighed, cocking his head to one side and looking at his friend in exasperation. "All right then, doormat, if you wish for him to wipe his feet on you, so be it. But are you too tired now to accompany me to my secret spot?" _

"_Outdoors?" _

"_In the forest. You will not regret it." _

_In five minutes, they were mounted on horses, still clad only in their leggings, leaving several elves staring at their youngest prince as he sped off with the human close behind. They rode at a fast pace, the Ranger in high spirits and letting the elf leading him whither he would. The elf kept them on the trail that led directly to the ledge above the pool which Aragorn had never visited. _

_As soon as they reached the start of the slope, a few yards from the edge, Legolas jumped down from his horse and yanked Aragorn down from his. Infected by the excitement of the elf, the Ranger felt a thrill as Legolas issued a challenge: "Race you to the top!" and sped off up the ledge, the Ranger close on his heels. Without stopping, the elf ran to the edge and turned around for an instant, just long enough to grab the wrist of his friend, then jumped right off with a whoop of delight so loud that it could not be drowned out by the Ranger's equally loud squawk of shock and fear. The Ranger took one look at where they were headed and barely had time to pinch his nose shut before the two landed feet first in the water with a loud splash, Legolas still holding on to Aragorn's wrist so that he could pull him out in case the jump had scared him senseless. _

_The two emerged from the water, Legolas laughing in insane delight and Aragorn sputtering, looking like a drowned rat. He shook his hand free of the elf's grasp and wiped the water off his face, catching his breath while trying to work out the quickest way to end the elf's life. But as soon as he had taken three breaths, Legolas dove under and yanked him down again by the feet, this time running his elven hands quickly through the Ranger's hair to wash the sweat and grime out and effectively keeping the struggling Ranger under at the same time. Aragorn kicked one leg out, attempting to connect with any part of the elf he could reach, he did not care which, his mind bent on killing or maiming. But the elf was too fast for him, dodging him easily and swimming three yards away before surfacing. Aragorn surfaced a moment later and spun around to look for the elf, murder in his eyes. He was in time to see a flash of gold disappearing beneath the water, and before he could even remember his own name, Legolas had come beneath him, between his legs. The elf grabbed them, placing them astride his shoulders before he kicked hard against the water and used his strong arms to hoist Aragorn a foot above the water at the same time. He gave the Ranger a moment to prepare for what he knew the Ranger was sure to expect, before tipping the helpless human yelling "Legolaaaaaa…" backward into the water, and swimming away to a safe distance across the pool. _

_Legolas watched Aragorn emerge, wiping the water from his face that went from red to deep magenta with rage. Treading water and forced to catch his breath yet again, Aragorn glared at the elf, who was laughing so hard he was struggling to stay afloat. "You sneaky woodland vermin!" he cried, and with a growl of rage, kicked out with strong strokes towards Legolas, without any doubt that he would strangle the elven neck as soon as he got his hands around it. _

_By this time, Legolas was so bent and weak with laughter that all he could do was hold up his hands in defeat and beg breathlessly through his laughter, "Peace, peace!" Aragorn was beyond appeasing by this time, and with a war cry, pounced on the elf, pushing him under and going beneath the surface himself. He felt the elf slip from his hands as he resurfaced. He treaded water as he waited for the elf to come up sputtering so that he could gloat. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and pushed it back from his face, a grin of satisfaction on his face. _

_His breathing calmed as he looked around to see where the elf would resurface, but felt uneasy as the moments went by and Legolas still did not emerge. He peered into the water, suddenly feeling afraid. "Legolas!" he called, then dove under to search for his friend below, swimming underwater across half the pool. He could not see the elf anywhere. Coming up again, he called desperately "Legolas!" _

"_You seek me?" he heard a cool voice ask behind him and he spun around to see the elf treading water with calm strokes a few yards away, a cheeky grin on his beautiful face. _

"_How did you – ? Where were you – ?" Aragorn spluttered. The elf raised his delicate eyebrows and shrugged. Aragorn could do nothing but stare dumbfounded at the elusive elf, lost for words, struggling with conflicting feelings of disbelief, irritation and relief. Then, with a groan of exasperation, he shook his head and laughed. Legolas, the grin still on his face, swam over to a shallower part of the pool and climbed onto a broad rock, signaling to Aragorn to join him. When he had given his friend a hand up, the elf lay back to bask in the sun. The Ranger did likewise, still chuckling. His chest rose and fell as he lay beside his friend. _

_Legolas turned to give him a smug look. "Ah, the doormat has been cleaned," he reminded the Ranger. Aragorn punched the elf's arm, a broad grin on his face, now free of the grime that had been on it before their swim. The two friends turned their faces back to the sky, closing their eyes and talking quietly._

"_Ahhh, Aragorn. It's wonderful here." _

"_Mmm." _

"_Do you feel at peace?"_

"_Mmmmmmmmmmmm."_

"_Aragorn?" _

"_Mmm?"_

"_Years from now, when you are King…" _

"_Mmm???""_

"_You know you will be. When you are busy being King of Gondor, will you still wish for a time like this?"_

"_Mmmmmmm." _

"_Would you wish for a place like this?" _

"_Mmmmmmm." _

"_I hope there will still be places in Arda like this by that time." _

"_Mmmm." _

"_Aragorn?"_

"_Mmm?"_

"_Would we still be friends?"_

"_Would water still be wet? Foolish question."_

_The two friends lay in a companionable silence till the sun began to slide down the western sky. _

"_Aragorn?" _

"_Mmm?"_

"_It's time to go home."_

_Groan… _

_And the two companions returned side by side to the palace of the Woodland King, in time to dress and sit at the evening meal, faces as clean and shining as twice-polished brass. _

Floating on his back in the South Ithilien pool, Legolas smiled. Yes, if there were anyone he would want to share this place with, it would be Aragorn.

But only if he would come, Legolas thought with a sudden twinge of wistfulness. After the Quest, their friends Frodo, Mithrandir and Elrond had sailed West along with many elves of Imladris and Lothlorien. Sam and the other hobbits were far away in the Shire, and Gimli was founding his own little niche in the Glittering Caves of Helm's Deep; he met with Eomer more easily than he did Aragorn or himself. Only he and Aragorn remained in Gondor, visits between Minas Tirith and Ithilien as frequent as once every two or three weeks. Their friendship had grown so deep that Aragorn loved Legolas as dearly as he did Arwen and Eldarion. The people of the city could no longer envision their king without his closest companion.

But kings, even the greater ones, can be bowed with labour, and the King of Gondor seemed more distant than he had ever been.


	3. The Lord of the White Tree

**_Note_**_: My thanks to the readers who have posted reviews. I appreciate them._

CHAPTER 3: THE LORD OF THE WHITE TREE

In a settlement mid-way between Rohan and Minas Tirith, Aragorn gave his final orders to the officers he entrusted with the security of this new settlement under Gondor's protection. He had spent the last three days there, meeting with villagers whose lives and homes had been plundered by the remnants of dissatisfied Men whose minds had once been under the spell of the wizard Saruman. Even though the wizard had fallen from grace and was long dead, the men remained outlaws, hating both the kingdoms of Gondor and Rohan. What saddened Aragorn most was that three villagers who put up a fight had died at their filthy hands, including a child of nine. She had been Eldarion's age, a thought that deepened his sorrow, and he prayed that his son was safe back home.

"See that no more harm befalls the villagers. I leave them in your care." With those words, he nodded and left with his royal escort to begin the long ride back to the White City and his family. For the past three months, he had had to settle more land disputes and hunting rights than he cared to remember, but uppermost had been the security problems. It worried him that desperate outlaws were becoming more daring, more reckless, and more cold-blooded in their assaults. After ten years, it distressed him that the safety of Gondor's lands was once again a cause for concern.

Aragorn felt weary and bowed with care, longing only to go home to his wife and son, a hot bath and his own bed. He had left the care of the White City and his loved ones in the capable hands of his Steward, Faramir. He did not know if Legolas was there or in the woods. He hoped the elf would be there; they could enjoy some of the good wine from the cellars of the palace. He truly missed his friend, but duties demanded so much time.

_Ai, Valar, I could do without troubles for a spell,_ he thought hopefully.

* * *

Aragorn was always occupied with his duties now, Legolas reflected. He must have been gone from Minas Tirith for … more than three months now? After ten years of the peaceful restoration of Gondor, some problems were cropping up in some of the smaller fiefs on the borders. Robberies, stray outlaws terrorizing villagers, small skirmishes over land – all these needed looking into. Over the last year, Aragorn was often annoyed that the officers he had appointed in these places had not been as effective as he had hoped. He felt he had to visit these fiefs personally to determine what needed to be done; besides, the villagers needed to see their King in person from time to time for their morale.

_Yes, he has been away more than three months now_, Legolas thought. And before that, it had been another tiring two-month tour of the provinces. He himself had left for South Ithilien in between Aragorn's departures and returns to Minas Tirith, Legolas recalled a little sadly. All in all, he had not seen his friend for close to seven months now, and he missed him. To an elf, that length of time was but the mere beginning of a breath, but since his close companionship with mortals, Legolas sometimes found himself viewing time as a mortal would – as a limited commodity – and seven months gone was seven months out of a limited lifetime. He thus missed the days he could not spend with his closest and dearest friend, the Lord of the White Tree.

Legolas sighed. Aragorn was a good king, just and kind and devoted to his people. But putting back the broken pieces of Gondor was taking its toll on him, and his temper would flare uncharacteristically as the weight of the problems overwhelmed him. He seemed more distant now, Legolas realized with a twist of sadness.

The feeling continued as he remembered that he had been the brunt of Aragorn's outbursts as well, several times now in the past one and a half years. When Legolas consulted him on matters involving the use of funds from the Treasury or the hiring of staff for restoration work, for which he felt he needed the King's approval, Aragorn happened to be in a fey mood and carelessly asked if Legolas could not be trusted to make the decisions himself.

On another occasion, Legolas had accompanied him to an important meeting with a landowner who was being hard on the poorer villagers, and Aragorn was trying to bring about an amicable solution. But when Legolas saw on the landowner's walls huge trophies of the heads of deer and other animals killed for sport, which the pompous man readily boasted about, the usually polite elf had been so nauseated he was unable to eat any of the meat served at dinner. He would, under normal circumstances, never show his disgust openly, and particularly as they were the guests of the landowner, but Lord Eigen's swaggering talk and blatant disregard for the animals had violated the elf's inherent love of nature so much that he was barely able to keep his words to the landowner civil.

Legolas recalled what had taken place:

"_Do elves not find pleasure in meat?" the pompous man had asked him, a mocking tone in his voice. "Does the fare not meet your approval?" _

_The elf controlled his voice as he replied in his usual soft tones, "Nay, sir, it is not my place to judge the quality of your fare. I consume meat when I need to, for sustenance, but I find it hard to do so with the heads and eyes of the creatures staring at me." _

_Aragorn's fork paused in mid-air and one of the King's aides stopped chewing. Lord Eigen's eyes widened as if they would pop out of his round face. "Strange are the sentiments of elves, to be unmoved by such fine trophies. Have you no appreciation of hunting skills, Master Elf? Aaah, the thrill of a chase invigorates me." _

"_Then I must be strange indeed, Lord Eigen, for I use my hunting skills only to serve me in times of need. At other times, I reserve them for the pursuit of creatures that would seek to kill other creatures only for pleasure or sport," Legolas replied, thinly veiling his contempt even in his soft tones. _

_The landowner went red in the face, Aragorn cleared his throat rather loudly, his aide choked, and several looks of displeasure from Aragorn's company were shot in Legolas' direction. Aragorn, who would at any other time sided with the elf, felt annoyed at his inopportune coldness toward Lord Eigen, worried that it would jeapordise the negotiations. _

_Fortunately, an acceptable agreement was reached nevertheless, but Aragorn's annoyance radiated through the silence he kept during much of the next day's ride on their way home to Minas Tirith. It had made Legolas ask himself if he had acted unreasonably, and he had approached Aragorn with an apology. _

"_I am sorry, Aragorn. Perhaps I was too harsh in my judgement of Lord Eigen. Forgive me," he ventured quietly. _

_There was at first only a tense look from Aragorn in response. He understood what had angered the elf: instead of being returned with respect to the earth, parts of the dead animals had been displayed to satisfy a hunter's vain need for others to flatter his hunting skills. It had sickened Aragorn as well, but at that point in time, he had needed the cooperation of the landowner. "There is a time and place, Legolas," he said at last, somewhat tersely. _

_The right time to respect living things was always, and the right place was everywhere, the elf thought stubbornly. But this was perhaps not the right time and place for that argument, so he repeated, "I am sorry." _

"_I should not have asked you to come with me," Aragorn responded shortly, and spoke no more on the matter for the remainder of the day. The king was reflecting on how difficult it must have been for the elf to see the horror reflected in the glass eyes of the animal heads, but perhaps it was weariness that made him keep these thoughts to himself and not voice them to his elf companion, and he did not realize how brusque his words had sounded. _

_The king's anxiety was understood by the elf, but even so, Aragorn's statement still stung like a slap in the face. As he swallowed his pride, Legolas could not help thinking: the son of Thranduil fails again in his trust. _

_The following day, Legolas approached Aragorn and unexpectedly begged leave to depart from the King's company so that he could turn north-east to visit his father in the Greenwood. Aragorn was already feeling contrite over what had transpired between them the previous day, but he had no right to stop the elf from visiting his family. With as much of a smile as he could muster, he said, "Send your father my regards, Legolas. And – please do not take to heart my earlier words – " _

"_As you say, there is a time and place," Legolas interrupted with a small smile, but sadness was in his gentle eyes. "It is I who spoke rashly in the presence of Lord Eigen, an elf still unused to the thinking of Men, perhaps. Worry not, Aragorn, I shall not repeat my error." Before Aragorn could utter a protest, the elf briefly placed his hand on his heart and swept it gracefully forward and down, saying, "I wish you a safe journey home, Aragorn," and left, leaving the King of Gondor feeling strangely empty. _

If such tense exchanges occurred when they were in Minas Tirith, the elf would get on his horse to ride away, feeling his hurt burn him as he spurred his horse down the seven levels of the city. But by the time he reached the lowest level and the Great Gates of the city, he would wonder if it was his fault after all, and if he had indeed failed Aragorn. He was never sure, and when he felt it was not his fault, he told himself that even kings could be bowed under the weight of his burdens – after all, he had seen his own father lose his temper many times. In the end, it was always his love for the Lord of Gondor that overcame his own hurt. He knew that if he rode off, Aragorn himself might feel wretched. So each time, he would stop his horse before he left the city, and he would turn back, riding up to the seventh level slowly so that his own anger would cool by the time he faced Aragorn again. Sometimes, he would delay seeing the King, retiring instead to the room Aragorn and Arwen always kept ready for his use. The following day, Aragorn's anger would usually have dissipated, and they would act as if nothing had happened. Legolas continued to hope that things would improve for the King.

Arwen often witnessed these incidents, feeling a little sad that these two friends who would die for each other could drift apart, for a night or a week or a month, over such trivial matters. She once caught Aragorn standing in the shadows of their bedroom balcony, looking miserably at the figure of the friend he loved best riding away from him. The balcony was located in a part of the palace that let them see what went on at the Great Gates. When Legolas stopped at the Gates as he invariably did, the king held his breath as he waited to see if the rider would turn back. Only when he turned did the king exhale and his shoulders sag in relief. He saw Arwen then, and no words were necessary as she enveloped him in her comforting arms, letting him sink his head into her hair. She knew, as he did, that he did not mean his outbursts and that Legolas would understand.

"Estel," she addressed him by the Elvish name he had been given by her father, Elrond. "He knows your heart, my love. Take care of his too," were the only words of counsel she gave him that night.

Two days later, she told Legolas what she had seen, and the elf's eyes had softened when she said what he already knew: "Estel needs you, Legolas, even if he does not see it himself. Forgive him."

So Legolas had always returned to his friend, knowing the true tenderness that lay beneath the hardened exterior of the king.

Legolas' attention returned to the present. _Aye, I miss you my friend_. Reflecting on how distant Aragorn felt now, the melancholy caused by his earlier dream returned, and he sighed. He wondered briefly if the dreams had come back because of those incidents with Aragorn.

Alas, he thought, even great kings are sometimes compelled to do things that do not please everyone.

* * *

Many miles from the White City, a dark figure sat in his dark room, brooding and planning. He seethed with the anger and hate he had nursed in his black heart for over nine years, since the end of the Ringbearer's Quest and the fall of Sauron. As he had every day since then, he swore vengeance on the king for the pain he had caused.

_You took away the light of my life_, he said bitterly to a king that could not hear him, _but I swear upon the memory of the dead – you shall taste the same grief. _

He had been waiting. Watching and waiting. Weeks ago, his spies had finally returned with some good news, though nothing truly seemed good any more, not since… not since THEN. He ground his teeth as the painful memory hit him again. It had taken him a few years to recover and put together the broken pieces of his miserable life again in the years afterward, but the desire for vengeance that consumed his every thought had kept him going.

And now, it seemed like the opportunity was going to arrive, when the situation was most favorable. He had told his minions to wait for just the right time.

_Oh yes, it is time for the king to pay. _

All he had to do now was wait.

* * *

It was getting late, so Legolas shook off his thoughts and left his secret spot, by way of the trees. Tomorrow, he would have to return to North Ithilien. He needed to check on security, for his guards had seen furtive shadows at the edge of the woods that did not belong to orcs or four-legged beasts. Unfortunately, half the elf residents were here with him in South Ithilien now, helping him restore these forests. They were needed here as well, so he would have to rely on those who were left. He considered the possibility of stopping by the city to see Aragorn's son and Arwen, whom he loved as family, and the thought lightened his heart as he trekked back to the ferry which took him across the Anduin back to Pelargir.

The sights and sounds of the riverside town jarred his senses, in sharp contrast with the serene peacefulness he had just left. But some irritations had to be borne if one wanted to function within the world of Men, he realized. There, he met with the other elves who were working on what he had been assigned them with. He looked at the progress with approval as he ran his long fingers over the woodwork. The elves noted that while their prince's eyes shone with pleasure, there was also longing tinged with sadness.


	4. Son of the King

**_Note_**_: My thanks to the readers who have posted reviews. I appreciate them._

CHAPTER 4: SON OF THE KING

"Arwen? Eldarion!" Legolas called out their names in surprise, as he dismounted quickly. He had ridden hard from Pelargir, as he wanted to reach his home in North Ithilien before nightfall. Some of his kin in Pelargir would be returning tomorrow as well, but something – he knew not what – had moved him to return today instead of riding with them. However, he had hardly expected to see the Queen and her son in North Ithilien, waiting for him.

"How came you to be here? When – ?"

"Legolas!" the little prince cried excitedly, cutting off the elf's question as he ran into the arms of his father's friend who had been close to him since his birth. Legolas picked him up and swung him around in delight before hugging him warmly. "You are getting too big to be picked up, prince of Gondor!" the elf declared before setting him down, kneeling and gently sandwiching the fresh young face between his long hands. "Let me look at you."

He studied Eldarion's handsome face. He had his mother's delicate mouth and long dark lashes, but everything else bespoke of his father – from the strong brow and serious grey eyes to the firm chin. Even the way he set his jaw whenever he was determined was the mark of the king of Gondor.

"You truly are the son of the King," Legolas said lovingly.

"You've been away too long," Eldarion complained, furrowing his eyes a little and looking even more like his father. "I've lost one tooth and sprouted a new one since. See?" And the young prince opened his mouth wide and without embarrassment to offer proof of his claim to the elf.

Arwen had walked over by then and she looked on in amusement as Legolas bent his golden head and pretended to examine the cavern of the mouth studiously, holding back laughter. "Why yes, Eldarion, it's a fine tooth, and one that would bite with ferocity as befits a strong young man," Legolas pronounced seriously.

Eldarion beamed with pride. "You will teach me to shoot arrows tomorrow? I've forgotten some of the things you taught, you should not stay away too long. Can I stay in the _talan _tonight? Can I climb the tree? Oh, there's your horse! Can I get on him?"

Before the elf could answer any one of the child's rapidly fired questions, the boy had run to where an elf was leading Legolas' horse away, asking to ride him. Legolas watched him with a tender look in his eyes before turning to Arwen and letting her kiss him on the cheek.

"I did not expect you to be here, Arwen. Is something the matter? Who accompanied you here?" he queried in a rush, realizing with a blush that he must have sounded like Eldarion.

Arwen laughed lightly. "Nothing is wrong, my dear Legolas. Eladrion was simply too bored in the city and pleaded for a visit here. We expect Aragorn to be back in two or three days, but Eldarion would not wait. Four of the royal guards rode alongside, and my maid came with us in the carriage. Faramir saw to everything. I believe that answers all your questions?"

Legolas grinned. "You are always welcome, that you know. But I would have wished to set more guards around the borders before you came. I am glad you reached safely."

A look of concern crossed the Queen's face. "Are there problems? I thought Ithilien was safe."

"It is, Arwen," Legolas assured her after a slight hesitation. "Only… in the last few weeks, my guards have reported seeing shadows near the borders. They have never actually entered these woods so we know not whether they pose a threat. I simply wished to be cautious." He did not voice his concern that half his elves were away, and that was half as many that he wished to be here while she and Eldarion were around. "I must take my leave briefly now to see to those arrangements. Where are your guards now?"

"I – um – I sent them back." At the look of shock and apprehension on Legolas' face, she quickly added, "But they will be back here the morning after tomorrow, to escort us back."

"But why did you send them away?" Legolas could not hide the note of concern in his voice now.

"Eldarion is not the only one who chafes within the confines of the palace, Legolas," she said in a huff, and her next words came in a rush as her voice rose. "So do I at times. Once in a while, I wish to remind myself that I, too, have elvish blood in my veins and that I grew up surrounded by the beauty of Imladris. Ithilien is the only place that can offer me that solace now, and for a day or two, I do not wish to be watched by the hawk eyes of the royal guard. I do not want to be on a leash in woods that are akin to my own elven home!"

Legolas drew a deep breath and kept quiet, allowing Arwen to compose herself again.

Her head was lowered and he knew she was controlling her emotions. He certainly understood what it meant to an elf to be in the woods, for he too could not stay within the walls of any stone city for long periods of time.

"Surely you can understand, Legolas?" Arwen said in a small voice.

Legolas sighed. "Of course I can, Arwen. You are both welcome here anytime, you must know that." _But I wish you had not sent the guards back,_ he said only to himself. He could not help a small grin; only Eru knew what threats the queen must have used to pressure the guards into leaving, for they would not have left willingly. _Well, it is done, and I must provide what safety I can with what I have. I hope the elves will return from Pelargir tomorrow as they planned. _Arwen's smile and the shouts of delight from Eldarion atop his horse strengthened his resolve to make their stay as pleasant as he could manage it. "Have you and Eldarion – ?"

"Yes, we have made sleeping arrangements in the _talan _with the rope ladder – yes, I know you will not let me climb the tree," she replied with mock frustration, "and I have brought food from the palace for the evening meal, which my maid laid out before she – ah – she left with the others." For a moment, she studied Legolas' face for a reaction to what she said last, but he hid whatever it was he felt. "So, as soon as you are refreshed…"

Legolas chuckled. "Who is the host and who is the guest now, Arwen? You put us to shame," he jested, "but foolish is he who declines a meal prepared by the cooks of Arwen's royal kitchen. I will join you as soon as I can." With a slight nod and another look to where Eldarion was still playing with the elvish horse, he stepped away to speak to the other elves.

-------------------------

The day had begun hot and bright, and Eldarion had been given archery lessons in the morning till the young prince tired. Arwen and he were taking lunch with Legolas as they sat beside a stream in a clearing. Trees surrounded them but did not crowd them in. Eldarion was soon splashing about in the water, cooling himself and trying to wet his mother and Legolas as well. The elf would have happily joined him but he wanted to talk with Arwen.

"He is so happy here, Legolas. I'm glad this place can take his mind off how much he misses his father," Arwen said, looking fondly at the squealing child who was trying to catch the silvery fish that could be found in the stream. Turning to the elf, she asked, "How is your work in South Ithilien progressing?"

"It is hard work, but very rewarding," he replied. "The forests will breathe again, that is what my friends and I pledge. Aragorn and you will see South Ithilien as fair and green as they once were in the songs of our people, Arwen." There was a hint of sadness in his voice as he said 'our people', for he was reminded that Arwen had given up her immortal life for Aragorn and that her husband, too, would die one day, while the elf lived on to mourn them.

"You are a good friend, Legolas, even if he is too busy to tell you so," Arwen said softly.

Legolas turned his beautiful eyes towards the stream as if embarrassed by her remark. Eldarion was out of the stream and chasing after a hare now. "My time too has been devoted to the woods south." _I miss Aragorn_, he thought, but quickly reminded himself that duty often demanded sacrifice. "He returns soon, you say?"

"In two days, perhaps three," she affirmed with a smile, brightening at the thought. "So Eldarion and I must return tomorrow. He will be tired again, I expect, and glad to be home. You will come for dinner then, Legolas?"

"I will come," he promised, waving his hand to Eldarion as the boy called to him and proudly held up the hare he had managed to catch. Legolas took a moment to sweep his eyes across the trees around them. He knew that guards, unseen and unheard, were hidden in the foliage, and that they would be by his side in an instant should he call. He still felt a little uneasy about the shadows that had been spotted, and felt the need to be even more alert with Aragorn's family here. There were too few elves, and Legolas had no choice but to get them to patrol a smaller perimeter, further in than the actual fringes of the woods.

"He will want to see you. Perhaps you could stay for a while." Arwen's voice brought him back to the conversation. It was more of a request than an invitation. She was concerned about her husband and afraid that, under the weight of his responsibilities, he would lose sight of the things he held precious. Legolas read her mind and smiled a little sadly but said nothing.

"The welfare of Gondor rests on his shoulders, and caring for it is what makes him a good king, but even a good king needs some respite," she continued. "I wish… well, my mind would be more at ease if you traveled with him sometimes, Legolas."

The elf could not help giving a small laugh at that, shaking his head in disagreement. "After what happened with Lord Eigen? It would be wiser for me to distance myself from such dealings."

"Distance is what the two of you do not need more of," Arwen disputed, a note of frustration creeping into her voice. She placed a hand on the elf's arm. "Please, Legolas, spend some time with him."

"Gladly, my dear Arwen," Legolas assented, but added, "if that is what he wishes. But if he does not desire that, then I must find another way to give him respite."

"He needs you," Arwen reiterated firmly.

Legolas looked at her for a long moment, then sighed and looked at the sky. "Lo, it darkens, Arwen," he said, noting the rain clouds. "We should return to the _talan. _Does Eldarion not need to nap?"

The Queen laughed. "He is older now, Legolas and may not want to. But you speak true, we should return. He will not be happy to sit quietly in the _talan._ I must find something for him to do. Help me, Legolas, or we shall have a child in a fey mood by nightfall!"

The two of them called to Eldarion, who reluctantly let the hare go, and followed the grown-ups back to where Legolas and his elves had their homes in trees.

The Shadows watched everything and waited. Soon, their chief said. Very soon.


	5. They come

**_Note_**_: My thanks to the readers who have posted reviews. I appreciate them._

CHAPTER 5: THEY COME

"Firm downward strokes," Legolas reminded the young prince, as the child used a small knife to whittle the point of a short arrow. "And remember to keep the point of the arrow on the floor." That way, the boy would move the knife away from himself. Placing the arrow against the floor was not the way adults would make evenly balanced arrows, and the knife he had given the boy was not even very sharp, but the elf just wanted to keep the young prince occupied. It was late afternoon, but heavy rain had darkened the day early, and the candles around them cast shadows on the walls of the wooden tree-house where they sat. It was not where the queen and her son slept; it was a play-house with a rope ladder, nestled securely in the strong arms of a tall oak. Legolas had built it for the young prince a year ago, and it was one of Eldarion's favourite places in Ithilien. "Handle the knife carefully, Eldarion."

Head bent over the arrow in his hands, Eldarion's attention was focused intently on the task at hand and forgot to grumble about the rain as he had done earlier. "When you finish this one, you can do another, and soon you will have half a quiver to show your father. Only young men with new teeth can accomplish such a feat!" Legolas quipped, and the boy beamed before returning his full attention to the task.

"_Hannon le_," Arwen mouthed her thanks to the elf when he looked across at her. Legolas smiled and nodded. He vaguely recalled when he was an elfling himself and his caretaker had let him whittle. He knew Eldarion would enjoy making his own arrows as well, even if they were not anywhere as fine as the ones made by elves.

"_Bridhon nin!_" a voice called urgently from below the _talan._ Legolas got up immediately from where he was seated in front of Eldarion and moved quickly to look over the low wall of the tree-house.

Even without his exceptional eyesight, he would have made out the elves standing below in the rain. One was breathing a little faster than normal, as if he had run a distance at great speed. "Galean?" Legolas addressed the young elf who was not breathing as fast. The worry was visible on Galean's' face even though a slender hand shaded his eyes from the rain, his whole body tensed for action.

"_Bridhon nin_, my prince!" Galean said again and immediately pointed towards the darkness on the eastern fringes of the wood.

Legolas' own concern mounted as he enquired what it was they had seen. "_Man cenich?_"

"The shadows," the other elf, Lishian, replied tersely. "They move to surround us. Fast."

Legolas could hear the noises now, and his heart sank. _Oh Valar, of all times for them to be short of elves._

"I came from there, my Lord," said the elf. "They surrounded us, asking for the son of the king! I escaped and came back to warn you."

At his words, Legolas' heart sank again, his thoughts going immediately to the young prince in the corner. His ears picked up a gasp from Arwen; she had heard. "Ground or trees?" he asked.

"They walk."

Legolas lost no time. He did not know what the Shadows were, but had to think first of Arwen and Eldarion's safety. He made a quick decision. In one swift movement, he had reached Eldarion, removed the arrow and knife from his hands and picked him up. The suddenness of the movement brought forth a look of alarm from Arwen and a stare from the boy. In two strides, Legolas had placed the boy on the floor in the darkest corner of the _talan. _He motioned for Arwen to come over and went on one knee before them. Looking steadily into the wide grey eyes of the boy, he said as calmly as he could, "Listen, Eldarion. I want you to stay with your _naneth_ in this corner. Do not move from there until I or one of my elves come and get you. Do you understand?"

The boy did not blink but nodded. To Arwen, he said urgently, "Someone is coming here for – " and caught himself before he could say the name. Not in front of the child, he decided. "There is no time to get to the horses." There was a look of fear in Arwen's eyes. She nodded as she quickly wrapped her arms around her son. He grasped her arm reassuringly. "I will be back."

Turning to Eldarion, Legolas grasped the boy's chin and looked into his eyes again. "Stay quiet," he stressed, and turned away. He blew out all the candles and was about to descend from the tree-house, when he suddenly stepped back to where the arrow and knife lay. In another swift movement, he picked up the knife and was back at Arwen's side again. It was but a small one, but it would have to do as there was no other. In the dim light, his bright blue eyes looked directly into the mother's, and he placed the knife quietly by her side, willing her to read the meaning of his action. Arwen swallowed her fear, staring back with wide eyes that started to glisten, and nodded wordlessly.

Then he was gone.


	6. Shadows from the East

**_Note_**_: My thanks to the readers who have posted reviews. I appreciate them._

CHAPTER 6: SHADOWS FROM THE EAST

Arwen and Eldarion had not moved from the corner after Legolas left. They sat hunched in fear, listening to the rain. Their fear was made even more acute because they knew not what was happening below. They gasped when a form suddenly appeared at the door of the _talan_, dripping with rain. But they breathed when they saw it was an elf, Galean, followed immediately by another elf. The other elf knelt by the door, peering out into the night, while Galean approached the two huddled figures and spoke quietly to them.

"Do not fear. The prince wants us to stay here with you," he informed them and moved to join his friend, but Arwen caught his arm. She spoke in Sindarin, hoping that Eldarion's own halting knowledge of the language would filter much of the information from him, in case it was too frightening.

"What is happening?" she whispered.

"The shadows we saw, they are here. Many men."

"Who are they?"

"They came from the east."

"Where is Legolas? Is he all right?"

"The fighting has not begun. He leads us."

There was nothing more he could tell her. He spun around and joined his friend at the door, whispering in hushed voices barely audible above the rain. Eldarion turned to her with frightened eyes as if to ask what was happening, and she whispered words of comfort to him, trying not to show her own fear. "Legolas is taking care of the problem, my darling, we must wait here. Be brave."

During the wait, Arwen's thoughts raced. She had heard the voice of Lishian earlier as he told Legolas: "They surrounded us, asking for the son of the king." She began to talk to herself: why did they want Eldarion? How did they know he was there? They must have been following his movements and her own. Minas Tirith was too difficult to infiltrate; they must have waited, biding their time. And their visit to Ithilien, with its open spaces, provided that opportunity. But why did they want him? For ransom? As leverage, to force the King into doing something he would not otherwise condone? She could find no answers. But her thoughts went to Aragron, wishing he were here. A tear streaked down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away.

After what seemed ages to Arwen and Eldarion, the rain began to lighten. And still they waited, clutching each other.

Then, as if, an order had been given to break the silence, they heard yells and sounds of fighting a short distance away. The fair voices of the elves were hardly audible, but there were other blood-curdling yells as metal clashed against metal, and bows sang. The two elves in the _talan _stood, looking in the direction of the sounds. One had moved to the wall opposite while one guarded the door. Arwen could sense the tension in their slender bodies and the anxiety in their faces as they looked into the darkness. She knew they would have wished to be fighting alongside Legolas, but she was glad of their presence here, for she had a young son to protect. She knew the elves would die before they even thought of disobeying Legolas' orders and leaving them. And _she _would die before she allowed anyone to take her son.

After many minutes, there seemed to be fighting in two places – in the distance, the fighting seemed less intense, but there were also sounds getting closer. A shout, like a question, was heard from below – was it from Legolas? – and Galean replied, "Yes, my lord, they are safe." Then the elf shouted a warning to Legolas: "They come after you! Lishian, draw your bow!"

"No!" Arwen heard Legolas shout in Sindarin a little distance from the tree. "Stay hidden!" And she understood that he did not want the attackers to know that they were in the _talan._ She stifled a sob of fear as she heard the clash of knives below, then a cry of pain in an Elvish voice, and her heart missed a beat. Eldarion whimpered, tears running down his cheeks.

Galean uttered an Elvish curse and pulled his friend down so that they would not be seen. "So many, so many," he mumbled in anguish. Then he turned to the two figures in the corner and gave an order in a hushed voice: "Stay in front of them!" Lishian immediately moved to position himself in front of the two figures in the corner, while Galean remained at the door.

Suddenly, Galean stood and ran to the low wall. Without a sound, he fitted an arrow and drew his bow in one smooth motion and fired at something below. There was a horrible cry as something died. Eldarion screamed and placed his hands over his ears.

The next series of events took place very quickly, almost in a blur in the dark.

As soon as Eldarion screamed, Lishian whipped around and Arwen closed her hand over her son's mouth. A footstep landed on the floor of the _talan _to their left, and Arwen swung around, grasping the small knife at her side and swinging it in arc as she did so. Her forearm was quickly stayed by a strong wet hand: Legolas'. Arwen sobbed in relief. She saw the blood on his tunic, streaming slowly from what must have been a deep gash on his shoulder, and the long knife in his other hand, dripping with rainwater and blood. At the sight of the blood, Eldarion gave a loud whimper of fear, but Arwen had no time to react to it herself, for Legolas pushed her and Eldarion even further back into the corner. He then ran back to the door and pulled up the rope ladder swiftly before returning to crouch in front of them alongside Lishian. He was breathing heavily. "Where is he!" a rough yell came from the ground below. "Elbereth!" an Elvish voice cried, before it ended in a loud, pitiful cry of pain.

At the cry, Eldarion screamed again. Then a second later, the rough voice shouted, "Up! Up!" Galean cried, "They hear!" and drew his bow again, aiming now at things moving up the tree. He shot and drew and shot again. Lishian ran to his side at the low wall, and his bow sang with Galean's. The two elves furiously fired arrow after arrow while dodging arrows being fired at them as well. Lishian gave a cry as an arrow pierced deep into his shoulder and he dropped his bow before he staggered back against the wooden wall to the right. Legolas immediately dropped his knife and dashed to pick up the bow, pulling the two remaining arrows from the quiver strapped to Lishian's back.

But instead of firing in the direction Galean was facing, he turned toward the door and shot at the first of the tall, foul-looking men who had managed to climb the tree even without the ladder. The man dropped but another, who had been behind him, jumped over the body to land near Arwen. Arwen cried out and pulled Eldarion to her as he screamed again. Peering around him in the dim light, he seemed undecided as to whom to lunge for, but as he took a hesitant step towards the sound of Arwen's cry, the mother, with a fierce yell, suddenly swung her arm at him, holding him at bay with the small knife. Legolas, a hiss of pain escaping his lips as he drew his bow, immediately shot the last arrow, which sank into the man's bicep as he twisted to dodge it, and in the next instant, the elf dived back toward his knife at Arwen's feet. In one smooth motion, he had righted himself on one knee, his knife in his hands. He lunged at the man again, slashing deep into his thigh. The man gave a roar of pain and fell back, clutching at the wound. Before the elf could move to finish him off, Galean gave a cry and fell backward from an arrow in his chest. A black shape came over the low wall, a raised arm clutching a knife, and rushed at Legolas. Legolas plunged his knife into his chest but was knocked over himself, falling right in front of Eldarion, who was crying loudly in his mother's shivering arms. Another dark shape climbed over the low wall and made to lunge at the three figures on the floor with a long knife and a loud yell, but another voice – Legolas could not tell from where – shouted:

"The king's son! Take him alive!"

As he was turning, he saw another dark shape emerge over the low wall, with a long object in its mouth, aimed directly at them. Legolas widened his eyes in horror and twisted to place his body around Eldarion's. He heard two a sharp exhalation as something – a dart? – hit the wall where he had been before he moved. A second exhalation quickly following the first, and a dart flew from the long object and found the space between Legolas' arm and his torso, ripping through part of his tunic before lodging into soft, young flesh.

In the immediate confusion that followed, more footsteps were heard approaching the _talan_. Another yell came, this time from an Elvish voice, as elves from Pelargir and South Ithilien poured into the tree-house, slashing at the man who had sent the dart and at other dark shapes that rushed to climb back over the wall. Legolas saw an arrow drawn and pointed at the fallen man with the wounded thigh, accompanied by a harsh command to stay still. "Keep him alive!" Legolas commanded. Someone called "My lord!" and rushed to Legolas' side, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his shoulder and frantically searching him for other injuries, and others crouched over the still forms of Lishian and Galean.

Ignoring the pain from the wound in his shoulder, Legolas threw a quick question at one of the elves, who replied, "Most are dead, but we pursue the rest." He took a few moments to grasp what else was happening before him, closing his eyes in sorrow at the sight of Galean and Lishian, before turning an anxious face back to Arwen and Eldarion. Arwen was crying openly now, holding on to her son, still in shock. The boy seemed to have quietened down. His head was half-hidden in his mother's grasp, and he was whimpering softly. Legolas could see that his eyes were swollen from crying, his lids heavy.

"Eldarion?" Legolas called gently, seeking to comfort the child. "Eldarion, it's me. It's over now, you're safe." He took the boy's hand and squeezed it. The only response from the boy was a weak whimper. "Eldarion?" he called again. He peered at the child's eyes; they were closed. Legolas felt a sudden terrible sense of unease.

"Eldarion, speak to me!" he said louder. No response. "Arwen, is he hurt? Call him!" his voice was filled with a growing fear.

Arwen gasped and took her son's face in her hands. "Eldarion, can you hear me? Eldarion!" The boy had gone limp and cold. She shook him gently, but he remained motionless. Arwen gave a cry of anguish, her eyes wide with fear. "Oh, dear Eru! No, no!"

"Light the candles!" Legolas yelled to the elves around him, and turned back to run his trembling hands over the limp body of the prince, saying a silent prayer. Someone brought a candle, then two more, and Legolas ordered them held so that he could examine Eldarion. Arwen looked at him with wide, pleading eyes. There was nothing on the boy's arms and chest and abdomen, but as Legolas' probing fingers reached the top of the little thigh, he froze. He found the long thin dart, half- embedded in the tender flesh, and his heart sank. Arwen gave a gasp of fear when she saw it, and felt her heart stop as Legolas grasped it firmly and pulled it out, leaving a tiny entrance wound. Legolas held the dart between his finger and sniffed. His lips pursed as he handed it to one of the elves and told him calmly and tersely, "Keep it safe for the healers."

Then he closed the thumb and index fingers of both hands around the entrance wound and squeezed so that blood emerged from the puncture point. He had no certainty that he was doing the right thing, but he felt that if at all the dart was poisoned, he should try to remove as much as he could before the poison went further into the body. He prayed he was not causing Eldarion further harm. When he had squeezed out as much as he could, he placed his hand over Arwen's and said gently, "Only half the dart went in, we must hope it did not do much damage, but we have to get him to the healers without delay."

He turned to the elf holding the dart and said, "Get horses. Three ride to Minas Tirith with us." He would leave the elves to determine which three. "Bring the injured who need the help of healers." Looking with contempt in the direction of the man he had asked to keep alive, he added, "And bring him. Bind his wounds."

Several elves moved off at once. Turning back to the queen, who was now almost hysterical, Legolas held her eyes as he spoke in a controlled voice, hoping his carefully chosen words held the truth. "Arwen, listen to me. I do not think the dart is poisoned, at least not enough to cause great harm." He could hear her sharp intake of breath. "They wanted him alive. They would not have used a poisoned dart. I think… I think the dart was meant to make him fall asleep quickly." Hope flooded Arwen's expression at his words, and her crying grew less intense.

"He's just a child," she whispered, pouring the grief of a mother into those words.

Her words stabbed Legolas' own heart, but consolation had to wait. His first priority was to get Eldarion to safety and healing. They needed to help the injured elves as well, and – _and see to the ones who have been killed_, he thought sadly. Only then could they attempt to understand what had happened, and why. He told an elf to help the queen and the young prince off the _talan_, then straightened himself and stood.

He was tired, but there were elves awaiting further orders at the foot of the tree. He took a deep breath, descended, and issued them.

----------------

That evening, the king of Gondor had fallen asleep early after another day's hard ride on his way home. But hardly had the moon risen low in the sky before he awoke with a start, his heart thumping. Something was wrong back home.

Two minutes later, his surprised aides stood in front of their king and heard the order: "We ride for Minas Tirith now."


	7. And we wait

**_Note_**_: To the readers who have posted reviews: thank you **very** much for your words of encouragement. I really appreciate them and they motivate me to go on writing this first fanfic of mine. Even if I do not identify individual reviewers here, I assure you I make a note of every one who has been so kind. _

_I do not want lengthy responses at the top of each chapter to hinder your reading, OR to inadvertently reveal too much of what lies ahead. So at this point, I will simply say: the friendship between Legolas and Aragorn means a lot to me too, and this story is almost as much about the Man as it is the Elf. I respect them both and like exploring their thoughts and feelings. Let's see what eventually happens… _

CHAPTER 7: AND WE WAIT

The Elves rode as fast they could in the darkness of the road to the White City, hampered in their speed only by the elves who possessed varying degrees of injury, and the unconscious young prince, for they had to be supported by riders who were forced to ride one-handed. A number of elves remained in the woods to tend to six of their kin who lay dead and to those who had not sustained heavy injuries.

Eldarion lay motionless against Legolas' chest while his anxious mother rode alongside, her features taut with worry. The elf's shoulder ached dreadfully from his wound which one of the elves had bound roughly, but he would suffer no one else to take the child. It may have been his imagination, but it seemed that the child's body had turned from being cold to a emitting a feverish heat. He wished they could make greater haste.

The man who had been captured in the _talan_ was bound hand and foot, and his foul protests that had plagued elven ears at the beginning of the journey ended when a gag around his sneering mouth was added to the constraints. He was now unceremoniously draped over a horse on his stomach. At first sight, his long, dark, unkempt hair and scowling features reminded Legolas of the Wild men of Dunland that had plundered the homes of the Rohan folk at the time of the Quest, yet they were somehow different. Whoever they were, the elf was seething with rage at what the man's companion had done to Eldarion, and longed to find out their purpose as soon as he could.

Midway on their journey, to their surprise and relief, they met the four guards who had been sent home by the queen, riding towards them. Faramir's hair had nearly turned white when he heard what Arwen had done, and had insisted that the guards return to Ithilien tonight rather than wait till morning. Legolas was glad for the added security, however minimal, in case they were attacked again on their way to the city. He immediately instructed one of the guards to turn back to Minas Tirtih, to ride ahead of the group and inform Faramir and the healers about the approaching party.

They arrived shortly before midnight, and from then on the healers at Minas Tirith were kept busy. The young prince had indeed developed a fever, and the healers quickly worked to cool his head and body with wet cloths and herb solutions. Intermittently over many hours, they held his upper body upright to feed him water little by little so that it would go down his throat without choking him, for he could not swallow in his unconscious state. Eldarion remained unconscious, while the healers worked to determine what the dart had been coated with.

Arwen would not leave her son's side, and neither would Legolas. His shoulder was attended to as he sat a little distance from the bed where Eldarion lay. The wound was deep and would bleed for a while yet, but he hardly paid it any attention, so focused was he on Eldarion and the other elves who had received worse injuries. His kinsmen were being looked after in a separate room in the Houses of Healing.

After Faramir had ascertained that the young prince and elves were receiving the proper attention, he spoke with Legolas, who narrated the whole affair to him. "We know not their purpose, but it is most likely that they wished to hold Eldarion ransom. To what end is beyond our knowing."

"We will find out soon enough," Faramir said with a hard edge to his voice, his mind going to the prisoner who had been dragged to a cell for questioning. He had assigned the palace's most experienced interrogator the task of finding out whatever information could be extracted out of the prisoner. His immediate concern, as was everyone's, was Eldarion. But he turned to Legolas again, and seeing the blood that had seeped through even the fresh bandage, enquired, "How is your shoulder?"

"It will mend," came the simple and expected reply. Since the Quest, the elf had been known for making light of any injuries he sustained, counting on his innate elven ability to heal faster than humans. He refused a sling but he limited the movements of the arm, allowing Faramir to help him put on a clean tunic an attendant had retrieved from his own drawers in his room at the palace, so that the bloody bandage could not be seen.

It occurred to Faramir that he was glad Eowyn and their children were visiting her brother Eomer in Rohan; at least he did not have to worry about them at this troubling time.

They continued to wait.

---------------------

Leagues from the city, the King of Gondor and his company proceeded as fast as they could in the darkness. Their ride on plains had to be slow, illuminated only by ghostly moonlight. When they had to walk through woods, only the feeble glow of torches held high by tired arms was their guide and protection against wild creatures. Their weary feet crunched on twigs and dry leaves and tripped over gnarled roots of trees.

More than one member of the company questioned the urgency of the return to Minas Tirith, but none spoke of it to the king. How could they question a leader who had fought and survived more wars, tribulations, councils and quests than ten or twenty of the men put together? How could they challenge a Dunedain who had lived longer than most of the men and still possessed the strength of youth? How could they dispute the wisdom of one who had lived in both human and elven worlds, challenged the Dark Lord himself, and gained the respect of wizards, elves, men and halflings?

Who in the company could fathom what his mind perceived? None could, so they simply followed his command and his lead.

Unknown to them, Aragorn himself was uncertain why his heart was heavy. Had that been Arwen's voice calling him softly in his restless dream? Had that been his son reaching out to him for the safety of a father's arms? Had that been a friend, dearer than friend, who had murmured a painful plea for him to hurry home? Were they waiting for him?

Or was it the toil of the past months – the numerous and varied problems and troubles of his people – that made him imagine a plight where there was none?

No answers came, none had any to give him. He only knew they would not rest this night or the next day till the miles had flown by and he stepped once more on the threshold of the White City. To see what he would see. To know what he would know.

With a wry grin meant only for himself, he pondered on whether it is always worse for those who wait, or for those who are awaited.

---------------------------------

In the moonlit passage of a small stone fort, a dark figure paced up and down. He could find no sleep either, so intense was the thrill he felt as he envisioned the fulfillment of his desires, so sharp the taste of vengeance on his tongue.

Would they be back tonight? Or tomorrow? Or the next day? Would they bring back what he wanted? Had they hit at the right moment?

_Ah, this accursed waiting_, he mumbled, his fists clenched. _I might have gone myself. _

But no, that was precisely what he had not wanted to do. Besides revenge, self-preservation was important to him too. He did not want to be caught or killed. He would train others and send them to do the dangerous deed. If they failed, he would still live to try again till he succeeded. He owed it to _him_, he convinced himself, twisting at the pain of that memory.

The crooked smile on his hate-filled face was eerie in the moonlight. _I will not go to get him, I want him to be brought to me. I want his father to seek me and beg for my mercy. This time, I will be the king. _

And with that thought, he continued to pace and wait.

----------------------------------

The red, pink and gold fingers of dawn were just creeping over the treetops outside the windows of the healing room when one of the healers who had been tending to Eldarion spoke quietly to his mother. Legolas saw her breathe a deep sigh of relief and allow a brief smile to quiver on her lips. With moist eyes, red and heavy from worry and sleeplessness, she turned to his approaching figure and said shakily, "His fever has broken." Legolas felt his own shoulders lose some of their tension as he breathed a silent prayer of thanks.

Eldarion still lay unmoving, however. His face remained flushed face, and a faint sheen of perspiration on his forehead and above his upper lip. The immediate danger seemed past, but they still needed to see what else might happen. "Hurry back, Estel," Arwen whispered tearfully and lay her head on the covers near her child's waist, falling asleep from exhaustion at last, with one gentle hand on her son's small one.

The healer left the room, but another watchful one sat in a chair nearby, fighting off yawns, still keeping vigil. Legolas stood gazing at the child for some time; although the boy looked for the most part peacefully asleep, the elf could not forget how frightened he had been in the _talan_, and wished he could have been spared the ordeal. The wound from the dart had closed to nothing more than a small bluish puncture mark, but the young one had yet to wake. At length, Legolas planted a gentle kiss on the damp forehead and returned to his chair across the room.

"Will you not sleep?" Faramir's voice startled him, as the man approached quietly, studying the elf's rather pale face. The steward had heard from the healer about the change in the young prince's condition.

"I will sleep when he ceases to," came the reply. "I also need to see how my kin are faring."

"They are well. All have been tended to, and they rest." Faramir reassured him, drawing a nod of gratitude from the elf. "As should you. Take some food and drink, if you will not sleep." He pointed to some bread and wine that had been brought in some hours ago. They had remained untouched. In their anxiety over Eldarion's condition, neither Arwen nor Legolas had even noticed hunger or thirst.

"I will eat when Eldarion can," the elf insisted, and Faramir sighed in defeat. Legolas' eyes turned hard as he asked, "Has the prisoner revealed anything?"

"No, but he will break soon, we hope. We placed him in the coldest cell without any respite from the chill of stone and darkness, and withhold food and drink from him. If that does not loosen his tongue, we will employ less gentle means of encouragement. But I hope it will not come to that." With that, Faramir excused himself and left.

Legolas knew that "less gentle means" referred to physical torture, but he knew that Aragorn made sure his people used it only as a last resort and in direst need. He wondered fleetingly whether Eldarion's safety would meet the criteria. Aragorn was firm, but deep down, he had a merciful heart, Legolas mused. The elf held faithfully to his belief in the king's kindness. Aragorn would be infuriated at the attack and the ordeal his wife and son were going through, and rightfully so, but it would only be at the end of his tether that he would condone the physical torment of the prisoner, any prisoner.

_You know not how fortunate you are_, Legolas silently addressed the prisoner being held somewhere below the stone floors of the palace.

After a while, he got up and walked in the direction of the rooms where his injured kin lay. They too would be in need of comfort this day.


	8. The Healer's News

_**Note to reviewers**: Thank you for your kind words. Although I am no novice to writing, this truly is my first fanfic of any kind, and your encouragement motivates me. I hope the story and characters will continue to come alive for you._

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CHAPTER 8: THE HEALER'S NEWS

He had seen it many times before – how someone can cower in fear and misery and yet be defiant at the same time. The interrogator saw it now in the pathetic, chained figure huddled on the damp floor in a corner of the cold, windowless dungeon in Minas Tirith, and could not help smirking at the sight of the man who had been placed in his charge.

He peered closer at the figure in the gloom of the cell. The man's clothes were filthy and he smelt rank. The hair was coarse and unkempt, his face – when it could be glimpsed behind the unruly mane of hair – was roughened. Large round eyes seemed to protrude from the dark face, and on either side of a hooked nose were eyes that housed venom. He was lean and his movements did not seem clumsy despite his untidy appearance; they reminded the interrogator of a creature that could be capable of furtiveness when it wished, a dark furtiveness. The foul-looking man was altogether unpleasant to face, let alone talk to, but talk to him he must.

"Who sent you? Who is your master? What does he want with the king's son?" he repeated the questions he had been asking for the past day as he walked around the cowering man, his steps sounding loud and menacing in the hollow room. "These you will answer before you are allowed a sip of water or a morsel of food from the king's kitchens, or any shred of clothing to keep you warm, or any ray of light to brighten your long, long days of captivity here."

He had said these words again and again so that they would fall slowly and tortuously on the prisoner's ears, to remind him what he needed to do to survive in this dungeon. "Talk you will, you scoundrel, as your body breaks down from lack of food and water and you waste away. Your tongue will loosen, or your flesh will fall off as you rot."

There was an involuntary shiver from the tight-lipped prisoner. The interrogator bent close to the foul face, enunciating each word clearly, while trying not to breathe in too much. "But decide whether you wish to wait till you are too weak to help yourself. If you have any wisdom in you, you would save yourself the torment of a slow and agonizing death."

He carried a whip, which he flicked aggressively and dangerously close to the prisoner without actually harming his flesh, for King Elessar would not allow it, he knew. But he needed for the prisoner to believe he would inflict pain if answers were not given. In addition, he had his towering height, his immensely powerful build and his bellowing voice to instill images of possible violence in his charge's mind.

The prisoner kept obstinate silence, aside from issuing a venomous hiss.

_But your will wavers_, the interrogator decided, _and it will break. Oh yes, you will talk_.

* * *

The sun was already high in the sky when Legolas left the bedside of the last elf he had spoken to, reassured that he would recover. The elf's brother was one of those who had been slain during the attack, and Legolas had taken a longer time to offer solace as well as to honor the fallen elf with appropriate words.

The elf prince sighed as he returned to the room where Eldarion slept, going past men and women who were exchanging news about what had happened to the King's son. They hovered along the corridors, hoping to catch whatever news could be leaked out by the healers and servants. Legolas knew the city must be rife with rumours, many of the King's subjects sincerely worried about the young heir to the throne of Gondor. In his tiredness, the elf ignored all he came across, too tired to even smile. He walked with uncharacteristic heaviness in his step, worn out with worry. Like all elves, he could go without food and sleep for longer than humans, but his spirits were low.

Sitting through the night, he had allowed the events of the last day to play again and again in his mind, and he still had come no closer to understanding who the attackers or what their purposes were. They were fast and merciless, so they must have been trained, but by whom were they trained? Was their leader with them? He wished Faramir's interrogator could obtain answers quickly.

As aggravated as he was by the need to find answers to those questions, he had been even more greatly troubled by two thoughts throughout the night. First, the senseless assault had resulted in a little boy – the son of Aragorn, no less, lying unconscious next to his frightened mother. Second – and Legolas felt a rush of anger each time he realized this – the assault had taken place in Ithilien, the domain Aragorn had entrusted him to nurture and guard. Repeatedly, he rebuked himself: _I should have been able to keep Aragorn's family safe. No elves should have lost their lives. I should have been more vigilant. I should have anticipated… _

"Legolas?" his thoughts were interrupted when he practically walked into Faramir, so lost was he in self-reproach.

"Forgive me, I did not see you," he apologized to the steward. He realized now that he had walked past the door to Eldarion's healing room and the puzzled guards in front.

Faramir looked at the elf's pale face with slightly narrowed eyes. "You need to rest now, my friend. Some food in your body would not be amiss either." Lifting the tunic aside to peer at the bloodied bandage covering the elf's shoulder wound, he added, "And that needs changing." Without another word, he took the elf by the elbow and led him into the healing room.

Sunshine streamed in through the window next to where Eldarion lay. Moving to the still figure, Legolas and Faramir were faintly relieved to see that the boy's face was less flushed now, and he seemed more peaceful than he had been through the night. But there was no smile on Arwen's face as she greeted them, and dark circles under her eyes were silent testimony to the anguish she had gone through. Neither she nor Legolas had rested well or eaten since their arrival the previous night.

The sun was starting to slide downward in the western sky before Faramir managed to coerce the two elves into taking some nourishment, but the food tasted like ash in their mouths. Earlier, he had made Legolas sit still while the healers changed his bandage. The bleeding had stopped but it still felt tender and sore. Faramir had left to see to administrative matters that could not wait. Now he returned later to inform Legolas that they had not made much progress with the prisoner; he was still being questioned but he was stubbornly refusing to talk.

"But he cannot hold out for long," he said with confidence. "My chief interrogator can be very – persuasive."

Legolas nodded and got up to take yet another look at Eldarion on the bed. Arwen lifted her head from where it lay next to her son, as it had lain through many hours of the night and day, and Legolas noticed with pity how pale and fatigued she appeared, unaware of how pale and worn out he himself was. They exchanged a look, but before they could speak, two healers came into the room, one of them holding something on a small piece of cloth in his hand.

The healers bowed to Arwen and addressed her, "My lady, we have determined the nature of the substance used to coat the dart. It is not widely found or used in this part of Gondor."

The healer held out the object in his hand; it was the dart Legolas had removed from Eldarion's thigh. "The substance is a kind of poison," he continued, causing everyone around him, save his colleague, to stiffen. He added quickly, "Fortunately, it is not used to kill, only to weaken. It causes the body to go cold and numb, and it will cause the mind of a man to lapse into unconsciousness, rendering him defenseless."

"Eladrion –?" Arwen began.

"The prince is fortunate that only half the dart entered his flesh," the healer responded, anticipating her question. "It must have been caught in something, perhaps some clothing, before it punctured the flesh." _The small tear in my tunic_, _thank the Valar_, Legolas thought to himself, _but that is of no importance now_.

"It meant that there was less of the poison to work against," came the healer's voice again. "and Prince Eldarion's body did fight it. The fever was a sign of his struggle, and we made certain that his body received as much water as it could to flush out the poison. Were the prince a full-grown man, he may be waking by now, for the amount of poison would have held wreaked less force on a full-grown man. Being a child, Prince Eldarion will require longer to recover. But we have hope that he will wake before the day is through. Fear not, my lady."

Arwen's relief was audible, and both Legolas' and Faramir's faces relaxed as well. With moist eyes, the queen turned her eyes back to her son and smiled.

A thought occurred to Faramir. "You said this poison is used – to weaken," Faramir addressed the healers, careful to omit the word 'kill' that the healer had mentioned in his explanation. "How is it made? Who would have the knowledge?"

"Our records tell us that this was a poison used by river folk to catch fish," the healer replied. When he saw the puzzled looks on the faces of the Steward and the elves, he explained, "The poison was released into a river or lake, even areas of the sea if they could contain the water within catchments, to stun the fish so that they could be easily caught. Only a small amount of poison was supposed to be used so that there would be no ill effects on those who ate the fish. But after a time, folk who wanted to reap large amounts of fish quickly for trade would release too much of the poison, and the lawmakers of that time decided to make the river folk stop the use of it, for it killed too many fish too fast, and those who ate the catch fell ill."

The listeners digested this information silently, each shuddering at the horrifying thought that Eldarion had been the victim of this poison, as if he were a river fish.

"So where would this poison be found now? Who would make it?" Faramir repeated his earlier question.

"We cannot be certain, my lord. We know that the poison used to be harvested from the _ipo _plant that grew near bodies of water. I have heard of no such plants along the Anduin, although they may possibly be found there. Perhaps they can be also found further west and south, at the Bay of Belfalas or closer to the city of the Corsairs, where the Umbarians depend much on catch from the sea. Is it possible that – "

"The men came from the east, near the northern fringes, not the south," Legolas interjected. "That is what our guards observed."

"East of Ithilien?" Faramir asked, frowning. "But there are only the northern reaches of the Ephel Duath, and beyond that mountain range, the wasteland of Mordor. It is unlikely that someone could have dwelled there that we have no knowledge of. I cannot envision how anyone could dwell there at all."

Legolas nodded thoughtfully. "You speak truly, Faramir," he said, "they may merely have been hiding on the eastern fringes of the wood, at the foot of the Mountains of Shadow. It is easier to fathom them coming from an area further north, beyond the mountains, but there again we meet with little likelihood of a settlement, for there lie only the Reclaimed Lands, on the edge of Gondor."

It was now Faramir who nodded, his mind traveling to the expanse of land that was once known as the Dead Marshes. On Aragorn's instructions, a workforce had labored steadily over five years to reclaim the area and fill much of the bogland with more fertile soil so that in time, the land would settle and offer a new site for growing crops suited to the peat. At the moment, however, no husbandmen had yet chosen to erect new homesteads there, for the City and farms to the south were still able to hold the citizenry of Minas Tirith.

"Not there, and further north would be the Wilderland and the Greenwood Forest," Faramir noted.

"What about further east from the Reclaimed Lands?" Arwen asked, as keen to identify the possible attackers as the Steward and elf prince were

"On the old battle plain of Dagorland? Nay, not likely," Legolas responded, "but perhaps beyond that… what bodies of water lie to the east of Gondor?"

One of the healers spoke. "I know of one large one – the Sea of Rhûn." When they all turned to face him, he looked embarrassed, and mumbled that he had heard about it from some of the men who had worked on the Dead Marshes.

"Well does your memory serve you, for your observation is correct," Faramir said kindly. "There is the Sea, and several small rivers flow into it. Could the men have come from there?" he wondered.

"Does Gondor have any dealings with the people in that area? Would Aragorn have enemies there?" Legolas queried.

"I have no knowledge of any past or recent doings that tie us to the people who live there. We know little of them, and I suspect they of us." Faramir furrowed his brow. "Perhaps we should look at the maps more closely. And we now have some knowledge that the prisoner does not know we possess. I will inform the interrogator as soon as I can. In the meantime…" Faramir paused and turned to the queen, an apologetic look on his face. "Perhaps this would be a good time for you to take some rest, My Lady?" he suggested politely. "The danger appears to be past, and the healers are ever watchful for changes."

Legolas knew that at this moment, Arwen would not be mindful of her own need for rest, so he appealed to her love for her son and husband. "Faramir speaks wisely, Arwen. When Eldarion wakes, he will want to see his _naneth _happy and well." Then he added gently, speaking softly, "Seeing the reminders of last evening may disturb him. It would not give Aragorn any comfort either were he to face the stains of the terrible experience you went through, when he returns."

Arwen caught his subtle reference to the fact that she had not changed out of the dress she wore during the assault in Ithilien. Traces of dirt and rainwater stains were clearly visible. She grimaced when she realized that her hair was probably a frightful mess as well.

"You are right," she yielded, looking at the elf with some amusement, their long friendship enabling her to see through the ploy he had used. "I can hardly suffer from some refreshment, and neither would you, Legolas." In a more subdued tone, she added, "I have not yet thanked you and your kin for saving our lives. We are grateful."

Legolas was genuinely taken aback. "Arwen, if you had not been there, this would not have happened," the note of self-reproach evident in this voice. "Thanks are misplaced. Words of deepest regret are what I should be expressing to you. If only I had been more – "

Arwen cut him off, a startled look on her face. "Legolas, you cannot truly think any of this could have been foreseen by you. No blame do I lay on you or any of your kin!"

His disagreement was on this tongue, but before he could speak, a voice filled with authority, alarm and uncomprehending anxiety cut in.

"WHAT has happened here?"


	9. The Return of the King

**_Note_**: _My thanks to **Charlie, AM, Tinnuial, Deana, Aislynn, Sabrina, Shadowfax2931, Manderly, viggomaniac, nclowe, **_and** _Alison H _**for your support.

I am posting this next chapter sooner than I intended – just for you.

Chapter 10 may not be long in following, either.:-)

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CHAPTER 9: THE RETURN OF THE KING

With long strides his aides found impossible to match, Aragorn ran through the corridors of the palace with an energy born of sheer alarm and fear, despite the fact that he and his company had ridden without rest through the night to reach the White City.

As soon as he had reached the third level of the city, one of his councilors – a man given to dramatics, being of the notion that such behaviour would invite the king to notice him more – had run right in front of his horse, apparently willing to run the risk of being trampled if only to gain the king's attention.

If a voice could take physical form and grovel, Lord Burion's, as he greeted his king, would have been a fine example. "Sire! Oh praise the Valar you are returned! Oh my Lord – such a tragedy has befallen us, and the city grieves with you! My heart is with you and the queen in this hour, Sire."

After Aragorn had cursed under his breath and gritted his teeth at the man's idiotic action, he had demanded to know what tragedy the rambling man referred to. His reply was even more theatrical: "Oh, our precious prince, Sire, your beloved son! Tragedy has befallen him! The Elves, to whom you have bestowed so much kindness, could not protect him! He lies now in the Houses of Healing. The Queen, bless her heart, is devastated… oh woe, oh woe, let me take you…"

Aragorn was not about to let the tedious man take him anywhere. His heart missed several beats, but before the councilor had even finished his speech, his horse had sprinted off to the Houses of Healing, with the horses of his company close on its heels.

The king now ran along the corridor without knowing what to expect, his face drawn and pale, and it was not due to his tiredness alone. Reaching the room where he knew his son would be and startling the guards outside, he burst through the doors and saw his wife, Legolas and Faramir talking. His eyes fell first on his wife, looking pale, shocked and completely disheveled, her dress stained and dirty. He stared without understanding and bellowed, ""WHAT has happened here?"

"Estel!" Arwen called his name with a sob and ran into his arms. "Oh, Estel."

"My Lord," said Faramir, bowing.

"Aragorn," Legolas greeted him softly, pleased to see him.

"Arwen, what is this? Have you been harmed? What is going on? Where is Eldarion? Lord Burion said…" The king's eyes strayed to the bed then, to the pale and still figure of his son and heir. With a cry of anguish, he ran to the bed, pushing aside the healers, and stared at his child before bending down to touch him, afraid to hurt him, frantically calling his name.

After long moments of not getting a response, he turned an ashen face and wild eyes to the adults in the room and demanded answers.

In the time that followed, Arwen, Legolas, Faramir and the healers told him about the assault in Ithilien, the poisoned dart, Eldarion's struggle to overcome the poison and the prisoner being held below. At the news that the poison was not as lethal as he had feared, Aragorn closed his eyes and heaved a sigh of relief.

But at that moment, a little cry of distress came from the figure on the bed, and Eldarion turned blue as he struggled to breathe. With a gasp, everyone rushed immediately to the bed. The healers pushed them away and quickly turned the prince onto his side, gently massaging his upper back. His eyes were closed, but a stream of liquid issued from his nose and mouth, alarming his distraught parents and drawing a small cry from Arwen. For a few more moments, he continued to cough out the remnants of what he retched, but that was apparently what he needed, for he was able to breathe again as soon as the coughing stopped. He went limp again and remained unconscious, but his face relaxed as the bluish tint left it. The healers kept him on his side so that he would not face the danger of choking on his own vomit again.

One of the healers sighed as he turned to the anxious faces of the king and queen. "He is all right," he assured them, drawing forth sighs of relief from everyone in the room. "His body is still expelling the poison and anything else that causes him discomfort. He was probably feeling nauseous from all the water and herb solutions we fed into him; he needed to retch. We will have to watch him closely to make sure he does not choke again, but I believe he is recovering."

Despite the small comfort the healer's words brought them, looks of sorrow and pity washed across the faces of the grown-ups as they thought of how Eldarion's little body was forced to endure ills he should never have been subjected to. They all felt helpless.

The sight of his son's suffering seared the heart of the king and the father. He took Arwen's cold hands with his own trembling ones and held them tightly, letting his grief and his love for her flow through his gaze and his grip. After long moments during which no one spoke, he shook his head and wrinkled his brow.

"This happened in Ithilien? Why were you and Eldarion in Ithilien?" he asked his wife.

"We were visiting, Estel. Eldarion needed a… a change," she replied sadly.

He then turned to Legolas. "These… these… _men_, Legolas," Aragorn almost spat out the word with scorn, "these men who were after my son – where were they from?"

"From east of Gondor, we guess, perhaps beyond the old battle plain," came the reply. "Whence they first came south to Ithilien, we know not, but my guards have marked their presence on the eastern borders of the wood for some time now. We had not expected so many…"

"Wait!" Aragorn interrupted, a frown on his face. "You marked their presence?" The silence in the pause after the question spoke volumes of disbelief as he continued, "You _expected _them, Legolas? You – you knew they were there?"

The elf suddenly felt uneasy, as if a hole was slowly, slowly, but surely, opening up to swallow him. It took a few moments before he answered, "Yes, we started noticing shadows lurking on the borders two months ago, but we were not sure what…"

"You knew they were there, you knew there was a threat – and yet you allowed Arwen and my son to stay in Ithilien?" Aragorn had unconsciously raised his voice, his eyes meeting Legolas', an incredulous look on his livid face.

Legolas stiffened, and Faramir shifted uneasily. The elf thought back to when Arwen told him she had sent the guards back, and when she had pleaded with her voice and her face to let them stay. He remembered how he could not bring himself to refuse them that visit.

But how could he explain all that to the anguished father of an injured child who had been in _his _domain, and who should have received _his _protection? Any explanation would seem a lame excuse. Aragorn was right, Legolas conceded, bowing his head. _I am to blame, have I not been aware of this all night? I should have known better_, he thought. It just seemed so much harsher when Aragorn had put it into words. _I am so sorry, Aragorn._

But a voice countered his thoughts. "Estel, it was not Legolas' fault," Arwen spoke up. "He did not know, none of them knew this would happen. I was the one who asked him to let us stay…"

"But he should have made the decision to send you home at once, knowing a threat loomed nearby!" Aragorn was not placated. He approached Legolas swiftly and clutched his shoulder in frustration, unaware of the injury, causing the elf to wince and Faramir to take a step forward before checking himself.

The king said fiercely, "You should have sent them away!" He was tired, so weary from his travels and duties and the problems he had had to settle for the last month, his fiefs threatened by intruders, his officers failing to provide protection, and his mind had not yet overcome the sorrow he felt over the death of the villager child, the child who had reminded him of his own son. _My own son_, he thought bitterly, _I have been away taking care of the safety of others when my own son_… he gritted his teeth.

"Elessar…" Faramir tried to intercede.

But Aragorn was overwhelmed by now as he recalled the sight of his son's painful retches. The wrath of a father and protector made him angry at everyone, angry at himself as well, and it seemed to him that his voice at that moment came from someone he did not know. Turning from Legolas, he spat out in frustration, "Can I trust the safety of my kingdom to no one!"

Legolas' head snapped up, and everyone in the room stopped breathing. The healers froze, Faramir bowed his head, and Arwen could not believe her ears, her mouth slightly agape.

Both Legolas and Faramir felt the sting of the king's words, but Eldarion had been in Ithilien, and thus the elf felt them more keenly. He stood as still as if he had been struck by lightning. His fists clenched at his sides, his face grew ashen, and his eyes flashed with sudden pain as a vision and words from some other time and place engulfed his senses, drowning him:

_How came the folk of Thranduil to fail in their trust?_

It was happening again, this nightmare, only now, it was real.

Again, as he did so many years ago, he found himself swaying helplessly between emotions that threatened to choke him – shame that he had failed Aragorn's trust, but also hurt and anger that he did not think he would feel, for no one seemed to remember that some of his kin had died fighting against intruders. None of them had asked for this to happen. Were they to blame? No! …Yes! No… yes…

If only, if only…

As these emotions rushed through him in the fleeting moments in the healing rooms – moments that seemed like an age to Legolas – the bitter realization hit him again, that again, he could not undo the damage that had been done.

There was still no turning back.

But another thought followed immediately on the wave of the last one: there was something he _could_ do in the days to come.

His bright blue eyes seemed coated with ice – or was it tears that he held back with whatever pride and dignity he still had? – as he raised them slowly to meet Aragorn's. His voice, when he spoke, was soft but steady, with only the faintest hint of suppressed pain.

"I offer you my deepest regrets, my lord Elessar, for failing your trust."

Aragorn winced instantly, his heart raked by the words, despite his anger. _My lord? Elessar?_ Legolas never called him the name used only by his subjects and in official circles; it had always been his elvish name, Estel, or his birth name, Aragorn. Was this really Legolas who spoke? The question was answered in the next instant when the elf continued in the same tone of voice.

"Your queen and son deserved more than I could offer. I will go now to make amends, to redress the wrong that has committed, as best as I can. I only ask that my kin who are presently under the care of your healers be allowed to recover in the rooms of your city, but they will be certain to depart as soon as they are able, with my thanks."

Turning briefly to a stunned Arwen, he bowed slightly and said, "As I said earlier, Arwen, your words of thanks are misplaced. I beg only that, if it is not too heavy a burden, you send word when Eldarion wakes. Tell him for me…" but his voice failed him then as it shook.

"Legolas…" she began and reached out to take his arm.

Quickly returning his eyes to the king, who was still looking away, he bowed and said tersely, "By your leave."

Aragorn felt his mouth going dry, and he turned then to face the elf, choking out the words: "No, Lego – "

But with all the fluidity and speed of his elven kin, before Arwen could stop him, Legolas had departed from the room, his bearing as straight and regal as it had been all the years of his life.


	10. No Turning Back

**_Note_**_: My continued thanks to the reviewers named earlier, and now _**Nevaratoiel **_and _**crazypenguin4**.

* * *

CHAPTER 10: NO TURNING BACK 

Silence reigned for long moments after Legolas left, several pairs of eyes still trained on the door. Then Arwen swung round to face the king, blinking back tears.

"Estel," she said, shaking her head in disbelief, momentarily at a loss for words. Then she spoke with a voice laced with sorrow, "Estel, you know he would give his life before he allowed Eldarion or me – you – any of us – to be hurt! How could you – how could you say what you said to him?"

The king remained silent, his face set in an expression that had frustration written all over it, but now there was distress as well. _I did not mean it for him, _he protested silently_. I just meant… what did I mean? Whom was it meant for? _Part of him wanted to go after Legolas, but part of him remained numb, rooting him to the spot.

Faramir studied him for a moment, thinking that he had been hard on Legolas, but realized that nothing like this had happened to his family before, and it was a difficult time for all. The Steward felt uncomfortable, sensing that this might be a good time to leave the royal couple alone, so he cleared his throat and excused himself, saying that he had to inform the councilors about Eldarion's condition and to see to the interrogation of the prisoner. Aragorn barely nodded. Faramir signaled to the healers to leave the room with him, and soon the king was alone with his family.

In the silence of the healing room, the king and queen remained as immobile as their child on the bed. For a while, all they could hear was each other's breath. Then Aragorn turned and walked over to the bed on which his son lay. He looked on the young face and touched his unmoving hand.

But he still felt numb inside. He could not think, he could not feel. He was just numb.

As Arwen studied him, she saw how weary and bowed with worry he looked. Now was not the time for an argument, not while they waited for their child to wake. "Estel," she said gently, approaching him. "Sit, my love, and rest. You are exhausted." After a pause, she added, knowing he would not need elaboration to understand: "It can be mended."

Aragorn removed his eyes from the figure on the bed then and looked at her with so much sadness it twisted her heart.

"I must go after him…" he began, and made to walk toward the door, but before he could take two steps, a weak murmur came to their ears, and a small voice uttered a word: "_Nana_…"

Both king and queen were bent over the child in an instant. "Eldarion," they breathed in unison.

As the little sea-grey eyes of the child fluttered open, his parents smiled through tears as they felt their worries wash away like a cool waterfall. The child's eyes fell on the figure he had not expected to see. "Father," he whispered, just before the king broke into tears and gathered his child into his arms.

But for Aragorn, despite the huge wave of relief they brought, they were not all tears of joy.

* * *

Legolas felt as if a thousand daggers were piercing his heart as he walked out of the healing room and past the guards Faramir had posted. He had held his head high as he left, but as soon as he was beyond the door, he found himself trembling before he had taken ten steps. What just happened in there? He was shocked and confused, he did not know what to think, what to feel, unaware that his friend, the friend he loved more than his own life, was feeling the exact same way. All he knew at this moment was this reality that seemed to stab at the core of his being. He suddenly felt robbed of breath and held a hand out to the cold stone wall to steady himself. 

A dozen lords and ladies of the court looked at him as he exited. They had heard the loud voice of the king within the room but could not make out the words uttered. At the look of torment on the elf's fair face, they attributed it to some change in the young prince's condition and whispered quietly among themselves. Most of them were sincerely concerned about Eldarion. Many of them also knew Legolas, but the distress in his face dispelled any thoughts of approaching him for news.

Legolas walked on as fast as he could to distance himself from them, not really cognizant of where he was headed. He heard light footsteps behind him and looked up as a fair elvish voice addressed him. "My lord?"

One of the Ithilien elves who had ridden to the city with him was standing before him now, eyeing his prince with concern. He held out a hand hesitantly, wondering if Legolas needed support. Legolas collected himself quickly.

"I am all right, Hamille," he assured the other elf in the musical Sindarin language they shared, but did not trust himself to speak further. At the sight of the ashen face, Hamille's features hardened a little.

"You endured the king's ire," the elf said very quietly so that no one else could hear, forgetting that the humans nearby would not have understood them anyway. It was a statement, not a question, and Legolas guessed then that Hamille must have heard what transpired in the room earlier. An elf's hearing was much more acute than that of human ears.

"You heard?" Legolas questioned in the same soft tones.

Hamille nodded, his bright elven eyes expressing dissatisfaction. "It should not have been thus."

"What happened in Ithilien should not have been thus," Legolas replied immediately.

"Yet it was not by your hands it came to pass," Hamille retorted.

"Even so, there were no other hands that could have kept the prince from harm," came the rejoinder. More gently, Legolas remarked, "I am not a father, Hamille, but I imagine that a father's anguish is hard to bear."

Hamille made as if to reply to that, but thought better of it. No matter what he said, he knew, his prince would counter it.

"Speak to no one else about this, please," Legolas requested, and Hamille nodded. Satisfied, Legolas changed the subject. "You sought me? Is something the matter?"

"Lanwil has just arrived. He brings news," Hamille replied a little more loudly now, piquing the interest of the people who had strayed close enough to see them and hear them talk but not comprehend their exchange. "They caught another one of the vile attackers before he could escape. He rode here immediately to inform you."

Legolas straightened at once. "Is the man here?"

"No, he is being held in Ithilien. They were not sure whether to bring him here."

_That is good_, Legolas thought. _That is exactly what I need_. "And Lanwil?"

"He is visiting the others in the healing rooms."

Legolas had no time to think further on the incident with Aragorn in the healing room, although he knew the impact of it would be felt again as soon as he had a moment to reflect. Something more urgent had to be taken care of now. He placed his hand on his kinsman's shoulder and the two elves walked quickly to the rooms, ignoring the stares of the people around them as they watched the graceful movements of the fair beings.

Lanwil was sitting on a bed beside Lishian, whose deep shoulder wound was healing, but got up when Legolas entered the room. "_Mae govannen_, _Bridhon nin_," he addressed his prince, placing a hand to his chest. Legolas returned the greeting and clasped the elf's arm. Their conversation was entirely in Sindarin, so the healers could understand naught.

"You have the prisoner securely kept?" asked the elf prince.

"Aye, my lord," replied Lanwil. "We await your return, or your orders to bring him here."

"_Hannon le,_" Legolas thanked him. "You did well. I will return now and we can question him. The one who is here has not talked. How are our friends?"

Lanwil paused and thought, guessing that the elf prince was referring to the elves who had been injured but not brought to Minas Tirith. "They are well. They have been tended to. What of those here, my lord?"

Legolas looked around him at the elves in the room. "They will heal fast, as you know, and they will be able to leave soon. You must be tired. Have you eaten?"

"Aye, my lord," Lanwil replied, his eyes traveling over Legolas' face and body. "Have you?"

Legolas opened his mouth to answer and realized with a sudden jolt that he truly could not remember. He did not answer, for he did not wish to lie.

"And your wound, my lord?" Lanwil asked again, one eyebrow raised, almost accusingly.

Legolas smiled. "It has been taken care of," he was glad he could respond honestly to this query at least. "Are you too tired to ride back with me?"

"No, I am ready."

"Would you prepare our horses then? Hamille can stay with our friends here. I will speak with them. Wait for me at the stables."

Lanwil bowed and left immediately. Legolas took a deep breath.

_I have disappointed you, Aragorn, and perhaps I deserve the hurt I feel, _he thought.

He closed his eyes as he realized that he had, against his will, admitted he was hurt. Torn inside. But not helpless.

_Does our friendship mean less to you now than it did once, Estel? _he wondered sadly._ No matter. I will do this for you. I will find the one who hurt you and your family._

With that resolve, he opened his eyes and went to the elf closest to him. He took some time to give each elf words of encouragement and asked them to leave the White City as soon as they were able to, assigning Hamille the task of meeting with the king and expressing their thanks before they departed. Then he thanked the healers himself and left for the stables.

* * *

Once Eldarion had awakened and the healers had ascertained he was indeed out of danger and on the road to healing – he even took a little fruit juice – the king and queen could finally be persuaded to take some respite in their own chambers, leaving the child in the capable hands of their most trusted healers.

The thought of going after Legolas flitted across Aragorn's mind, but the elf would have left the city by now, he thought sadly, and his child had just woken. What if he asked for his father? No, he could not leave him yet. Aragorn was also truly exhausted. He resigned himself to the need for rest and sleep.

_A new dawn may bring new counsel_, he told himself in a feeble attempt at self-comfort, recalling that, ironically, those had often been Legolas' words during the Quest of the Ring, Legolas who had frequently buoyed his spirits with reminders that even in darkness, there still was – and always would be – hope.

While they waited for hot baths to be drawn for them, Aragorn and Arwen sat on comfortable chairs on the balcony outside their sleeping quarters. Dusk had descended on the city, adding to the gloom in Aragorn's heart. But the fragrance of honeysuckle and lavender that Legolas and his elves had planted in the gardens wafted by on a fresh breeze, soothing them a little.

Arwen noted her husband's silence and pained features and knew what – and who – occupied his thoughts. She had been shocked at her husband's outburst at Legolas, but she was also certain enough about the depth of the love between the two to know that Aragorn would be hurting as much as his friend and that he would have regretted his words almost as soon as he had uttered them. His sigh only reinforced her belief.

"I did not mean it, Arwen," he said with his head bowed, knowing she would understand what he was referring to. "It was not his fault, but I know I made it sound as if it was. And now… he has left."

His tone caught at her heart. "Estel… he will know this. He will understand." But for the first time, her words held a little less confidence than they always had before. For some reason, her mind went back to the grimace of pain she had seen in the elf's eyes when Aragorn had clutched his shoulder and instinctively whispered, "I hope it has healed."

"What do you hope has healed?" Aragorn queried, and she started; he had heard her.

She said nothing, knowing that the knowledge of it would cause him even more remorse. There was no time to answer even if she had wanted to, for at that moment there came upon the wind a sound of horses riding, leaving the stables of the seventh level where they were. Aragorn's head whipped up and he shot out of his chair, one long stride taking him to the wall of the balcony. He peered into the darkening surroundings.

He could just make out two horses riding downward, in the direction they would take to leave the city. Dark hair and golden hair glinting in the setting sun flowed behind the slender figures, and Aragorn gasped. "He is only just leaving!" he whispered. "I could have…" He felt like calling out the name of the friend he loved and had hurt, but he knew that at the speed they were riding, it would be no use. All he could do was watch helplessly, hoping, hoping that Legolas would, as he had in the past, pause at the Great Gates and turn around to ride back up.

He watched and waited, clutching at the stone wall till his knuckles were white, and Arwen waited with him. Gracefully, the two figures rode, onward they pressed. Now they were hidden, and now they reappeared briefly, as they descended each level.

The Great Gates were closed at dusk, as they were at this moment, but the guards must have seen the unmistakable elf forms approaching some way off and were even now opening them for the riders to go through. The elves slowed down a little and Aragorn held his breath. Legolas now approached the open gates at a canter. Aragorn's eyes never left him.

"Turn," Aragorn said under his breath, willing the elf to do so as he had done so many times before. "Please turn, my friend. Give me a chance to set things right."

But the horse never broke the canter, and Legolas, not turning, not looking back, rode through, taking a large piece of Aragorn's heart with him.


	11. Healing and Hurt

**_Note_**: _Thank you to ALL reviewers who have been named earlier, as well as _**Pellawethiel, Outofthebox **(I yield to your stick),** Dawn, Ruth **(cherries wolfed down) _and_** Slayer3. **_Your feedback has been encouraging and useful._

_Remember Aragorn is hurting too. _

* * *

CHAPTER 11: HEALING AND HURT

Aragorn watched the Great Gates of Minas Tirith close slowly on the backs of the elf riders, their diminishing figures becoming a blur of movement as they turned their swift elvish steeds toward Ithilien in the last rays of the setting sun. Even as the faint glint of Legolas' golden hair was lost to the view of the Numenorian king on the balcony of his citadel, the Great Gates clanged shut.

To Aragorn, standing in a stupor seven levels above, the faint clang sounded like a death knell on the friendship he treasured most.

When he finally remembered how to breathe, Aragorn turned despairing eyes to his wife, his body poised for flight, and his mouth tried to form the words he wanted to say. They did not need to be, for Arwen knew and understood. She understood, but the caring wife in her could not stop her from murmuring in a quivering voice: "It will be a long ride. Perhaps a bite to ease your hunger and thirst first?"

"His were not," came the short, strangled reply. A quick squeeze of her hand, a tearful smile from her, and he was running.

The king would have walked, but the friend tore off, flinging decorum to the stone walls lined with various insignia that proclaimed his status. He raced like one possessed past bewildered servants and startled guards, footfalls echoing down the long corridors and long legs leaping dangerously over stone steps three at a time towards the stables, carelessly ignoring shocked figures caught in the wind of his passing.

A lone stable boy was just closing the doors.

"Get my horse!"

Aragorn's loud command came so suddenly that the boy felt his body jump out of its skin, wondering if the twain would ever meet again. It took the befuddled lad a few moments to be convinced that this was his king and not a demon visited upon him. He barely managed a hesitant "S - S - Sire?" before the desperate king steered him quickly towards the doors, yanked them open himself, and repeated his command. Holding a lamp in one shaking hand, the lad walked in, the king right behind him. The horses snorted and snickered in their stalls.

But even as Aragorn reached his horse and the stable boy went to retrieve the saddle, they heard the voice of the Steward calling urgently: "Elessar!"

A moment later, Faramir rushed in, flushed and flustered, but relieved to see his king.

"My lord, please – " he panted, a pleading look in his eyes.

"Faramir, how – ?"

"The guards alerted me... nay, half the servants alerted me! Is something amiss? Where are you going?"

Aragorn realized that the Steward could not have spoken to Arwen yet. "Faramir, he has only just left, I cannot let him go without… " he was suddenly at a loss for words. The stable lad was bringing the saddle over now.

Slowing his breathing, Faramir furrowed his brows for a moment but then began to understand. He walked over and touched Aragorn's elbow lightly, motioning him to the outside of the stables. Aragorn stood unmoving, knowing instinctively, even without Faramir saying a word, that this was going to be one of those wretched moments when he would be expected to struggle between duty and desire. He followed the Steward reluctantly but did not stop the stable boy from saddling his horse.

When the cool breeze of early night was on their faces, a discreet distance from the open doors of the stables, Faramir turned to his king and took a deep breath before he spoke. Even in the gathering dark, Aragorn could see the concern in his face.

"Elessar, I know how much you wish to ride after him at this moment, but – I beg you to reconsider."

"It is something I dearly wish to set right, Faramir," the king said quietly and not a little firmly.

"There is much to set right, my lord, but nothing is more urgent at this time than your safety and what it would mean for Gondor should something befall you. Even if you left now, you would have to ride all the way to Ithilien before you caught up. With things as uncertain as they are…"

"I will take an escort then," Aragorn argued.

"We do not yet know the full purpose of your enemy, Elessar. We do not even know who your enemy is!" Faramir countered. "If indeed they were determined enough to wait till the queen and the prince had left the safety of the city walls, who is to say they do not lie in wait for you now? Even an escort may be nothing more than a deterrent. It may not be enough."

Aragorn gritted his teeth and his foot lashed out in a most unkingly manner at a wooden water trough nearby. The sound sent a nearby squirrel scurrying up a tree.

"I am King of Gondor and Arnor," Aragorn declared fiercely, his eyes locked on Faramir's, surprising him. "Shall I be held captive within my own walls?"

Faramir was silent for a few breaths, and his eyes did not blink or waver from their gaze. He knew his king was speaking from exasperation, not arrogance. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle.

"Nay, my lord, but as King of Gondor and the White City, you are duty-bound to defend them from whatever malice threatens them. As far as we know at this moment, there is a malice that has threatened your family. If any of you are taken hostage, what will be the fate of the City and Gondor?"

Aragorn's breath caught in his chest, and it seemed to him that the silence and darkness pressed on him like a solid mass. Ithil the moon was rising early from behind a line of hills, and Aragorn saw in his mind images from the Quest when that same moon had shone over them: an elf, a man and a dwarf running across the plains of Rohan, fuelled only by hope and loyalty to their friends; a Ranger and an elf standing watch together, battling orcs and wargs side by side, giving each other strength and comfort; sounds of mirth shared as they rejoiced in peaceful times; many moments of cheerful laughter and even more moments of quiet joy when speech was not needed. And now there was an image of that beloved elf riding beneath that moon, riding away from him. He squeezed his eyes shut and choked back a cry.

His mind told him to listen to the wisdom of his Steward's words, but his heart was tempted to follow an errant path.

_Nay, it is not wisdom, but duty that guides his words, _Aragorn thought_. For who in all wisdom can say that the value of a city, or a kingdom, is greater than the heart of a loved one? _

Unconsciously, Aragorn sighed. _Yet mine is not the freedom to choose. That freedom was bound when upon my head was placed the Crown of Gondor. _

"Must I always sacrifice what my heart desires for what the throne dictates?" he lamented, barely above a whisper.

"Nay, not always," came the quiet reply. Aragorn looked up and realized he had spoken aloud. On the face of his Steward was an expression of gentle understanding but also of wistfulness and painful memories. Faramir turned away as if ashamed.

"Not always, Elessar," he repeated. "Believe me when I say I know the turmoil in your heart, for you have been king for ten years, but I had been the son of the Steward for twice that, and longer. I have tasted the weight of duty and the grief of sacrifice, having to choose between them and the sweetness of free will more times than I care to remember. Oft did I desire to flee the caustic tongue of my father and lord, and fly from the devastation left by battle after battle against the Dark Lord as we held him at bay, but duty held me and made me drink still from that cup of bitterness."

Aragorn felt strangely embarrassed that he was witness to such naked thoughts from a man who had served him faithfully for ten years. Yet he felt honored by the honest words from the man of Gondor, who continued to face away from him, his hair lifting gently in the breeze.

"And yet I will not say that I had not freedom all those years," Faramir continued, still not looking at Aragorn, "for I learnt that there are times when one can set aside the sword, or scepter, or crown – whichever we wear, according to our lineage – and follow the heart."

He turned around now. "But the times have to be the _right_ times. They may be too few and too slow in coming, but they are there, they _will_ be there."

Aragorn could only be amazed at his Steward as he continued to bare his thoughts. He was too enraptured to notice that it was very quiet in the stables or to wonder what was happening with his horse.

"You will be the greatest of our kings, my lord. We all see it in you, your nobility and your strength. The light of Eärendil is in you. My father, though he had my fealty, will seem but a shadow in your light when your full reign has come to pass.

Yet the greatest of kings can be bowed by care. I was more fortunate than you, Elessar, for I had a father and an older brother who bore much of the weight of the kingdom. You, however, are alone. Alone, you bore the destiny of a long line of kings, alone you still are on your throne, for your own heir is still but a child. The load I carried as son of Denethor is but a bale of straw compared to the stone walls and problems of every city and every province you carry on your shoulders now and will have to bear in the years to come.

That is why I have pledged to serve you and aid you where I can. When the weight of your burdens bends you, I shall try to hold you up, and when doubt blinds you, I shall try to act as your eyes.

You are newly returned from a long, tiring tour and perhaps cannot see what I do. Let me act as your eyes now, this night. I know not what dangers lie outside these walls, or indeed whether any lie in wait, but in ignorance, it is better to heed caution."

Aragorn's eyes were now moist and he was glad for the cover of night. What Faramir had said, he already knew and had already accepted since the day Gandalf placed the crown on his head. But it comforted him to know how much Faramir understood, and that he was willing to help him face his kingship.

As if reading his thoughts, the Steward added, "Legolas is also well aware of the price of running a realm. He sees much and knows your heart, and for that reason, he has stood by you without complaint. You know Legolas better than I, Elessar; surely you know he would not want you to ride out in the dark either; he would not forgive himself if anything happened to you because of it. Set things right with him when the time is ripe.

I cannot restrain you, my lord, but as your Steward, I beg you not to ride out tonight. Give me two days to find out what we can from the prisoner; I expect he will yield to his hunger and thirst and cold by then. We may get new counsel at that time."

Aragorn gazed at his Steward with new respect and appreciation, moved beyond expectation. After that speech, so impassioned yet delivered so calmly, how could he not defer the desire of his heart once more? For ten years, he had always placed the welfare of his kingdom first, and for tonight at least, he had to do so again, however much he wished to ride after his friend. Faramir was right, it would be prudent to wait to hear what the prisoner could reveal first.

He only hoped that although he remained within the city walls tonight, the elf would sense the depth of his remorse and know why he could not go where he truly desired. He ran a hand through his already tousled hair.

Somewhere, a nightingale began its singing, and brought him to awareness that Faramir was waiting for his answer. Aragorn gripped the shoulder of the faithful man of Gondor warmly, and smiled in the faint moonlight.

"Long have I known that power cannot ride alone, for responsibility will always be its companion. This is clear to me, Faramir, yet when my heart is sore from many trials, my eyes may fail to see, as you say. I thank you for reminding me tonight, and I say to you, that if I had not answered the call of my destiny, yet would Gondor have a great and wise king in you, my friend."

To this last remark, Faramir only shook his head and said, "Time will prove that Gondor's greatest king has come to the throne at the right time."

"Whether or not that is true remains to be seen," Aragorn replied. "As does the wisdom of this decision to delay going to Legolas, for my heart still draws me there. Yet I will heed your counsel tonight, Faramir, and I will wait two days as you propose."

_I hope you, too, will wait, my friend, _he added silently, seeing again the image of the elf riding beneath the moon to Ithilien.

"Sire?" A soft voice broke the lull in the conversation, and both the King and Steward were suddenly aware that the stable lad had been waiting patiently by the stable doors, the lamp in one hand and the reins of Aragorn's horse in the other. The two men looked at each and could not hold back smiles, but while one was of relief, the other was tinged with sadness.

* * *

The youth and vitality of children – human or elvenkind – and their ability to overcome ailments quickly is a remarkable thing to witness, Arwen thought to herself over the next two days as her son recovered astonishingly well from the poison of the dart. Perhaps the amount of poison was really too small to do much damage aside from rendering the child unconscious, perhaps it was the healer's treatment that successfully purged the poison, or perhaps it was the child's strong constitution, but whatever it was, Eldarion was asking for his favourite dessert by the following evening after he awoke, and was back in his own room that night. The next morning found him ready for a game of chess with his father. 

His parents were delighted with his recovery and spent as much time with him as he could, remembering the anguish they had gone through before they were certain they would see his smile and hear his voice again. Although the child was still tired sooner than usual, his color had returned, and he was clearly as cheerful as ever.

Arwen wished her husband were doing as well, however. Despite his pleasure in Eldarion's recovery, he was snowed under by paperwork that had piled up and by court matters that had been awaiting immediate deliberation upon his return. He was also still concerned about the city's defenses, afraid of a second attempt on his son. Faramir sought to reassure him as much as he could, pointing out the attack had taken place in Ithilien, not the White City.

Patiently and anxiously, as he had promised Faramir, he also awaited results of the interrogation taking place in the dungeons below. By the end of this day, he had to get some answers.

He faced his responsibilities with stoicism, but Arwen knew that a feeling of unrest hung like a cloud over his head, and she knew why. Always, at the back of his mind, was what lay unresolved between him and Legolas. Arwen knew he would have ridden off to see the elf that night if Faramir had not stopped him, but his regal duties had to be settled first. Eldarion, too, needed his father's presence; it was just as well Aragorn did not leave so soon after his recovery.

_Some desires of a king's heart have to be deferred_, Aragorn reminded himself again and again, w_hen desires have to bow to duty_. _Even when the king never wished to be king_.

He had considered sending off a rider with a message for Legolas the very morning after Faramir had delayed him, but dismissed it almost immediately when he realized what an insult that would be. His friend deserved better, much better, than a piece of parchment. He deserved a personal apology.

Even as he sat in his office trying to ward off thoughts of his elf friend to focus on the papers arrayed before him, a guard approached him and bowed.

"Sire," he said, "Hamille of Ithilien requests an audience with you."

Aragorn brightened a little at that statement. At the king's nod, the tall, dark-haired Sylvan elf stepped into the room, his light footsteps making no sound on the rich carpet. Aragorn stood to receive him, his hands straightening his tunic from sheer habit. As usual, they greeted each other with their hands on their chests and a slight inclination of their heads.

"_Mae govannen_, Hamille," the king said graciously and with a genuine smile. "It is good to see you."

Hamille, looking groomed and poised as elves would be, returned the greeting with a smile as well, but Aragorn noted that the smile did not quite reach his eyes. His speech, however, was as polite as it ever was, betraying nothing amiss.

"King Elessar, I come on behalf of my kin who have been convalescing under your roof," his fair elvish voice spoke in Sindarin. "Please receive our gratitude for the kind attention of your healers. We return to Ithilien today."

"You are most welcome to stay longer," Aragorn responded in the same language with which he was totally at home, and his heartfelt tone of hospitality softened the elf's own expression a little, "although I understand you must be anxious to return home."

When the elf nodded and made as if to take his leave, Aragorn quickly delayed him. "Wait, Hamille. It is I who should thank you and your kin for what you did for my wife and child. You have my deep gratitude and my condolences over the brave elves you lost."

"My lord, you have already expressed this," Hamille reminded him, remembering the visit the king had paid the recuperating elves just the day before. "It was our duty and our honor."

"No, not your duty, and noble was your act," Aragorn countered.

"It was an honor to defend the queen and the prince," Hamille stated in return, "and it was our duty to Prince Legolas." At the mention of that name, a hint of hardness, almost imperceptible, seemed to enter the elf's eyes again. "Whatever and whomever he chooses to protect, we are behind him, regardless of the cost." Hamille knew he sounded less gracious than he usually was and that Legolas would be most displeased to hear it, but he could not forget what he had heard in the healing room that evening.

Aragorn felt his guilt increase at that declaration and briefly wondered if there was an underlying meaning to Hamille's words. Had Legolas spoken of the incident in the healing room to the elves? But just as soon as that thought entered his mind, he banished it; it was not in Legolas' nature to share his hurt with anyone. Whatever it was Hamille meant, Aragorn thought, he had no right to pry, and he did not really want to, for no one needed to remind him of the pain he already felt. He only wished he could talk to Legolas that very instant.

He half-determined to ask Hamille to deliver a note for him, but quickly realized that it was no substitute for a personal meeting; it seemed demeaning somehow. So he asked instead that the elf convey his respects to the elf prince. After debating for a moment, he added, "Please tell him I am grateful to him, and that – and that I will meet with him as soon as I can." Then, in a softer voice: "Tell him I truly wish to."

"I will," Hamille replied, and with a slight bow, turned to leave. Arwen came in just then, carrying a covered basket.

"Hamille, I heard you had come in here," the queen said, casting a brief smile at her husband as well. "I am glad to have to caught you before you left."

"My lady," Hamille greeted her, inclining his head.

"Please tell Legolas that Eldarion has awakened and is recovering well," she said. "He will want to know."

"Aye, he certainly will, and the news will do much to lift his spirits. It will please him to know that you are certain of it yourself."

"_Hannon le_, Hamille, and please give him these," she handed him the basket. "There should be enough to share, but he will enjoy them most. Please," she whispered in a conspiratiorial tone, "make certain he eats."

Hamille smiled, accepted the basket without asking about the contents, and left.

Later, as Aragorn sat watching Eldarion eat his third blueberry tart after lunch, a smile touched his face. He and Legolas shared a love for blueberry tarts as well, and he knew, without asking, what had been in the basket Arwen gave Hamille.

Aragorn silently thanked the Valar for restoring his son's health and for how well he was recovering. He himself had eaten little, mulling over the matters he needed to discuss with his Ministers later that afternoon, and wondering how soon he could settle affairs of state, and how soon it would be all right to leave Eldarion so that he could ride to Ithilien.

_Legolas_, he sighed. _I wish I could talk to you now, mellon nin. But soon, I hope, soon._

"Legolas?" Eldarion said the name through lips covered in sticky blueberry topping. Aragorn realized then that he must have said the name aloud.

The child seemed to remember something and stopped eating. Arwen looked at him, slightly puzzled. He leant close to whispered into his mother's ear, "Is Legolas still hurt? I did not like to see it." His eyes were wide, and a hint of moisture laced them.

Arwen swallowed as she realized that Eldarion was envisioning the blood he had seen dripping from the elf's shoulder in the _talan. _She quickly wrapped an arm around the child and placed her forehead against his.

"No, darling. It has been taken care of. He is all right now," she said soothingly.

"They hurt him," the child stated in a small voice, dropping his eyes.

Arwen caught Aragorn looking at his son with a puzzled expression and decided she would have to explain later. "Yes, they did. But the healers treated it like they took care of you. His shoulder is mending, and he will be happy to know you are better too."

"Will he come here soon? I – I do not want to go there," the child whispered, burying his face in his mother's dress and staining it with the stickiness on his lips. "Not yet."

His parents exchanged a look. They had not foreseen that the experience in Ithilien might have left the child with an unpleasant impression of the place itself. They would have to help him overcome that fear eventually. He had elvish blood in him, and he too should feel at home in friendly woods.

"He will come when he can, darling," Arwen whispered back. "But you have to get well first. You will need your strength to handle your bow when he teaches you to shoot again."

Those words brought a lump to Aragorn's throat. He was reminded again just how much Legolas meant to his whole family, and his feeling of remorse deepened. Eldarion seemed consoled by his mother's assurances and returned to his unfinished tart, quickly devouring what was left and leaving the table to have his hands and face washed.

Arwen turned to her husband to answer the question she knew was on his tongue.

"He was wounded in his shoulder, Estel," she explained simply. "Eldarion saw it."

"Was it deep? How did I not see it?" The king's eyes were filled with concern now.

"It was bandaged and – " Arwen narrowed her eyes as she tried to recall what she had seen that night, "and I think he had changed his tunic. The one he was wearing was… it was torn, and… it was… stained." She did not have to say what with; Aragorn knew.

Horror gripped him then as he recalled vaguely where his hand had carelessly clutched Legolas that night. Had the elf shown pain? How had his own eyes missed it? Aragorn looked at Arwen with pleading eyes as he gasped his question.

"Arwen, did I – ? I did not – ? Did I… add to his pain?"

Arwen considered her response. She did not want to make her husband feel worse than he already did, but she could not lie, so she said softly, "You did not know, and he would not hold it against you."

Aragorn moaned and buried his face in his hands. He never thought he could hate himself as much as he did then. _Legolas, forgive me_, _forgive me_, he begged silently, his breath strangled in his throat. He was barely aware of Arwen's caresses as they tried to remove the feeling of sorrow that would not leave him.

_I will wait till the end of today as I promised, Faramir, _he determined silently, _but whether or not the prisoner talks, I shall leave for Ithilien tomorrow. This time, nothing will stop me. _


	12. Questions and Answers

**_Note_**_: My thanks to all the previously named reviewers, as well as _**Kingsfoil Grace, Nautica, **and** Kirsten.**

Few know what the bounds of love can endure, fewer still who understand the heart of a king, especially a reluctant one.

Patience, patience.

* * *

CHAPTER 12: QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS 

Deep in the windowless dungeons of Minas Tirith, the towering figure of the interrogator stood patiently before his charge, trying to ignore the dank musty smell emanating from the mildewed floor and walls of the cell, and from the foulness of the prisoner himself. One weak lamp on the wall above the prisoner, one on the far wall, and a small opening with iron bars in the heavy wooden door cast all the miserable illumination that was allowed in the cell, enough for the occupants to make out each other's silhouettes and, if they were close enough, facial features.

The prisoner was bent over his knees today, his hands shivering from hunger. The wounds in his thigh and torso had been cleaned again and rebound. He had not been fed yet, but he would not die from his wounds at least; Lord Faramir made sure of that.

After lunch, the Steward of Gondor had pressed the interrogator to drag answers out of the prisoner by whatever means before the sun set, for the king had told him in no uncertain terms that he would ride to Ithilien tomorrow, with or without information about a yet unidentified enemy.

The fool must be starving, the interrogator observed. Almost three days now, but this will be the day. He will be broken today. 

He was frankly amazed that the man had held out this long with that much recalcitrance. Besides the occasional scowl and an incoherent raspy growl that went with it, he had not responded in any way. He was either very loyal, very foolish or petrified over the consequences of being branded a traitor should he ever be found out.

_Not much chance of being found out, _the man of Gondor snorted to himself. _You will never be released if Lord Faramir can help it. _

The interrogator was doing something different this afternoon. He had brought in a low stool and a low wooden table, which he placed a very safe distance from the prisoner securely chained to the far wall. At a knock on the heavy door, the large man walked over, opened it and received a tray handed to him, mumbling thanks. He took the tray over to the table and lowered himself onto the sturdy stool.  
On the table before him now sat a plate of hot, steaming food, a mug of ale and a mug of water. He stretched himself and proceeded to lick his lips audibly and rub his hands together, making a show of inhaling the tasty aroma of meat and potatoes, knowing that, despite the dankness of the cell, it must smell just as tantalizing to the ravenous prisoner, even if he could not see the food.  
Noisily, he picked up a fork; the meat had already been cut up into bite-size bits in the kitchen – no knives were allowed down in the dungeons. He stabbed at a piece of meat and slowly inserted it into his mouth, chewing audibly and murmuring sounds of relish. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that the prisoner's gaze was fixed on him, or rather, it was on the table. Even in the dark, the interrogator could see the glint in his eyes and the pathetic desperation on his face. 

After eating one more piece, he took a swig of ale from the mug, gurgling some down noisily and smacking his lips after, with a satisfied "aaaaahhh".

The prisoner moved restlessly and whimpered.

The interrogator smiled secretly. He stuck a very small but juicy piece of meat on the end of the fork and got up from the stool. Walking lazily to the prisoner, he held out the fork to the man on the floor. With a raspy growl, grubby fingers shot out to grab the food, but the interrogator pulled it back just out of reach of the fingers.

The growl turned into a yell as the hunger and thirst, exacerbated by the cold and damp of a three-day stay in captivity, turned into desperate need. The interrogator smirked and thrust the fork forward again so that the shaking fingers could pull the small piece of meat off the prongs and pop it instantly into a dehydrated mouth. The prisoner chewed greedily on the pitifully small morsel and reached for more, but found none waiting. He saw the large man going back to the table to pick up the plate of food and a mug. Then the large man placed the food on the floor, and the prisoner stretched out to grab at it, his chains drawn taut. But although the tempting aroma of the food was much closer now, it was painfully out of reach. A howl of frustration was emitted from the figure in chains, and the interrogator sat back on his haunches to look at him.

"It tasted good, did it not? There is more here if you want it. Food and water," the interrogator asked in an enticing voice. "Tell me where you are from and who sent you, and you will get it."

The foul man yelled louder, frustrated, but his throat was too parched to yell for long. He collapsed back on the floor, furious and weeping.

"Why do you protect your leader?" the interrogator challenged. "Will he reward you for your silence? Even if he would, you are now in the dungeons of the king – you cannot get back to he who commands you. We can arrange it so that no one ever sets eyes on you again."

He walked closer to the whimpering figure and asked in a taunting tone: "Who – will – feed – you – then?"

"I do not protect him!" the prisoner cried hoarsely, suddenly whipping around and catching the interrogator by surprise. "I… I… I fear him."

The large man controlled his breathing. _Carefully now_, he told himself.

"You fear him?" he prompted.

"Yeees…" The voice grew hoarser, the parched throat making it difficult to talk. The large man picked up the mug of water from the tray. It was only half-filled with water; he only wanted the throat to be wetted, not the thirst satisfied. He handed it to the prisoner, who grabbed it and drank greedily till the mug was empty. "More," the thirsty man demanded.

"Talk first. You said you fear him? Why?"

"If you knew him, you would fear him too. He has no – no mercy."

"I know him not. What is he like?" The interrogator's past experience with spies told him that for some reason, if he asked for the identity of their leaders too soon, they would not talk. It was easier for them to talk _about_ the persons first.

"Nasty, vicious. Always angry. He knows what he wants."

"What does he want?"

"The king's son, you fool. Could you not tell?"

"We will see who is the fool," came the reply. He was used to this. "Why does he want the king's son?"

The prisoner chortled, if a chortle it could be called, coming from a throat that was still dry. "Revenge, why else? That is all he thinks about."

"Revenge? For what?"

"His son, the king killed his son in the war! That is all I know. Now give me food first."

The interrogator drew in a breath. So, the motive: revenge. A son for a son. "Tell me more."

"I do not know much more. Food first!"

"Not so fast. What is his name? Where is he?"

A growl, followed by silence.

"What is his name? Who is he? Where can we find him?"

"If he knows I talked, I will be dead!"

"If you do not talk, you _will_ be dead. From hunger and thirst. He cannot reach you here."

Silence again.

Time to take a chance. "Very well," the interrogator said, picking up the plate of food and empty mug from the floor and heading back to the table. "You may not see me for a long – "

A loud growl was emitted, followed by a name the interrogator had waited to hear: "Sarambaq!"

_Good_, _he gets desperate_. _He will answer quickly_. The large man turned around to face the prisoner again. "What was that again?"

"His name is Sarambaq, and he will kill me, he will kill me," the man said miserably, hiding his face in his hands.

"He cannot reach you here. Where is he? Where does he hide?"

"His – his halls. In Adhûn." The reply was mumbled.

"Where? Remove your hands so I can hear you."

"Adhûn!"

"Where is that?"

"By a river. Near the sea."

"The sea? The sea in the west?"

"No, no. The Sea of Rhûn."

The interrogator smiled inwardly in satisfaction. Lord Faramir was right: the attackers had come from around the Sea of Rhûn as he had guessed from their use of the _ipo _poison. The large man knitted his eyebrows as he tried to recall the little he knew of that area: the Sea lay east and slightly north of the White City. But he knew nothing of the people who lived there. Lord Faramir must be told.

"Are you from there?"

"Yes. He took me into his service. Miserable service, but a man has to eat. And we fear – fear for our families, if we should refuse."

The interrogator nodded. The evil masters in this world never changed. They always held others hostage to fulfill their greedy demands.

"What is your name?"

Silence.

"Your name?" Louder now.

"Ködil!" It came with a growl.

"Ködil," the interrogator repeated. "How long has he been there? Has he many troops?"

"Too many questions! I want food."

"How long?"

"About nine or ten years now, after the Dark Lord fell. I know not how. He only told us the Dark Lord fell. He went there after the king destroyed his home."

"The Dark Lord? Sauron?"

"Yes."

The interrogator nodded. He did not know all there was to know about the Quest of the Ring, but everyone in the White City knew that after the Fall of Sauron, King Elessar's armies had indeed assiduously sought out and disabled many rogue bands of orcs and men. But some escaped without a trace; it was assumed that many had left Gondor. He supposed Sarambaq must have led one such band.

"How far is Adhûn from here?"

"More questions! No, no, food first!"

"How far?"

Ködil hissed in exasperation, but he needed to get his food. "Two to three weeks on foot, a slow walk."

The interrogator let out a low whistle. "How did you know the king's son would be in Ithilien?"

"We watched. Waited and watched. Sarambaq made us."

"He was not with you that day?"

A snort accompanied the reply. "No, he would not risk his life. He only risks ours."

A thought occurred to the man of Gondor. "It's a long way from Adhûn to Ithilien. How do you exchange news?"

"What?"

"How do you communicate with your master? It takes time for you to travel between the two places. Does he send word, ask for news?"

Another snort came. "He has Dárkil."

"What is a Dárkil?"

"Not a Dárkil, you fool. Just Dárkil. His – his – flying demon."

This was interesting news, the interrogator thought. Interesting but not welcome. He sat back on his haunches and addressed the prisoner again. "Tell me about Dárkil," he commanded.

* * *

The air outside Sarambaq's halls in Adhûn reverberated with the screech of the foul creature, as it fed on the stinking meat of carrion. Its master studied in admiration the strong wings and legs of the black beast. The jaws at the end of the longish neck were bloody with its meal, the eyes alive and eager. 

A smirk of satisfaction crossed Sarambaq's face as he recalled when he had first surprised the Dark Lord with his creation – a cross between a giant eagle and one of Sauron's own flying steeds, the ones the Dark Lord had bred for the use of his Nazgul. Sauron had been impressed that Sarambaq had managed to capture the giant eagle, subduing it to his own will after many months of torture. Kin of Gwaihir the Windlord himself, the eagle had been a prize catch, and when it bred with the Dark Lord's own steed, the product had been a beast with the ferocity of Mordor and the swiftness and sharp vision of the eagle race.

Dárkil he had named it, and it was one of the reasons Sarambaq had a strong hold on the services of his minions and the residents of the surrounding village. No one dared defy the Master when they knew full well what the jaws and claws of his beast were capable of doing if they refused.

_Too unfortunate it is only one of its kind_, Sarambaq pondered. He had not been able to produce another. The giant eagle had died in captivity, and now that the Dark Lord's steeds were vanquished along with him, Sarambaq had little hope of repeating his evil-driven success.

_No matter_, he thought, _I will use this one for as long as I still have it_.

He now waited a little impatiently for the creature to finish its meal so that he could start on his journey. He had decided that he had had enough of waiting for news and intended to have Dárkil bear him to the Table. Perhaps some of his useless minions were already there and could tell him what was happening.

The Table was a huge rock formation surrounded by thick woods, located just a three-day trek away from the fringes of Ithilien on the borders of Gondor, so named because of its flat, plateau-like top upon which Dárkil could land with ease. It also offered a vantage point from which Sarambaq could see anyone approaching, if they were not hidden by the woods. At the foot of the wide rock were caves in which Sarambaq's troops stored provisions and weapons. These stores, replenished regularly by the few riders allowed to ride Dárkil from Adhûn, enabled the troops to spend long lengths of time watching Gondor without having to return all the way to Adhûn for supplies. As far as they knew, there were no settlements lying in the forests between Ithilien and the Table.

The location of the Table also meant that Dárkil could fly as close as possible to Gondor without being easily spotted by the sharp eyes of the elves who guarded Gondor's borders. Indeed, the beast would appear nothing more than a stray eagle in the skies to the east when it was seen by elves, and it was totally beyond sight of the guards in the high towers of the White City.

Unknown to Sarambaq, the remnants of the force he had sent to Gondor were indeed already headed there. Having failed to take the king's son, they had decided to retreat to the Table to recoup and strengthen themselves before trekking back to Adhûn and facing the inevitability of Sarambaq's wrath. Little did they know that they would be meeting their dreaded master sooner than they expected.

Half an hour later, the beast had finished its meal. Sarambaq mounted this prized steed of his and headed for his destination, unaware that deep in the dungeons of Minas Tirith, one of his minions was talking about this very creature.

* * *

_So, that is how Sarambaq has kept such a close eye on the royal family in Gondor, _the interrogator thought. He wondered with disquiet what elsethe dark Master would have seen and might have planned beyondthe capture of the prince.He wanted to find out more about his plans, but it was clear from the heated protests and agitated reactions from Ködil that he would speak no more till he had been given food. The large man finally stood. 

"After you eat, you will talk some more." This was not a question, it was a demand.

"I do not know much more!"

"Then you will tell me all you know. Everything about Sarambaq."

The prisoner nodded miserably.

The interrogator walked up to the prisoner now and looked ferociously at the pitiful figure with as much menace as he could conjure in his eyes. The large man's voice was but a whisper, but the venomous warning in it was unmistakable.

"If you lie to me or hold anything back, you will taste not only my whip, but the ire of the Lord of the White City. And THEN…" the prisoner was almost wetting himself by now. "… and then you will not see me, or food, or water, or light, till the end of your days in this dark, dark hole. Do you understand this?"

The man's eyes bulged out even further, if that was possible, and nodded several times.

"All right," the large man said, drawing up to his full height. "Now you can eat."

* * *

A similar line of questioning was taking place in the woods of Ithilien the day after Legolas rode back from Minas Tirith, but the elves were having less success with their own prisoner. Unlike what was happening in Minas Tirith, the thought of starving the detestable man, as furious as they were with him, never crossed their minds. The only times the evles showed no mercy was when they faced Sauron's orcs or when they fought the giant spiders that invaded Mirkwood, and even then, they always sought to inflict a quick death. At all other times, the gentleness of the elves over-rode any thought of violence or torture. They would have preferred to break the prisoner's spirit in other ways, but there were no dark cells in their fair woods to aid them. 

_The cave dungeons of Thranduil Oropherion would be a better place for this_, Legolas thought wryly, although his father's caves were in fact airy and not quite as fearsome as he thought them to be. _I will have to manage with what I have. _

A grimace marred his fair features briefly as he recalled the last time he had made that decision and the consequences of that action. _I tried to keep them safe with what I had_, he remembered, _but it was not enough_. Fleetingly, he hoped Eldarion had awoken and was recovering.

Aragorn's face flitted across his mind and he felt a pang of sadness again. Thoughts of his friend had dominated his mind on his ride back from Minas Tirith last night. When he thought of all that he had ever shared with the former Ranger, a member of the Fellowship of the Ring, and now the King of Gondor, he could not believe that Aragorn's words were anything more than a careless utterance born of frustration. Yet he never imagined that those words could hurt so deeply.

He wished he could find out everything behind the attack – who planned it, what their intentions were, why they wanted with Eldarion, and where they were hiding. But he would be content with an answer to the last question if that was all he could obtain, for that was what he had resolved in the healing room: he could not undo what had happened, but he could try to locate the enemy's base and learn more about him, or them.

He had thought of doing the questioning himself but quickly abandoned the task to the other elves, for at this moment, he felt he had not the patience or tenacity to slowly and skillfully draw out answers from an obstinate source. Perhaps he would not be aggressive enough, not in the right way. Prowess in battle and leadership skills were quite useless in an interrogation. He could not suppress a grin as he honestly wondered whether the other elves would be able to accomplish any more than he could. He recalled how more than sixty years ago, his father had failed to coerce Gimli's dwarf ancestors and kin into revealing anything when they had stumbled into the elf realm and been caught.

_Elves make terrible interrogators_, he conceded. _Ah, well,_ _if we draw nothing out of this man from the East, I will have no choice but to send him to Faramir. _But they would try their best first.

Legolas shook his head and told himself to focus on the task at hand – a task that he wished were not necessary. He was writing letters to the families of the six elves who had been slain during the attack. They had all been so loyal to him, leaving Greenwood to follow him south to Ithilien. He had known them for hundreds and hundreds of years, and he recalled fondly how all of them had sparred with him in training, climbed trees and hunted spiders with him, and how he and some of them had landed themselves in trouble as elflings. If they had remained in the Greenwood or if they had sailed West with the ships, they would not now be in the Halls of Mandos where dead elves go, he thought with sorrow in his heart. These were the first six elves who had died since they came south, and although none of them would have regretted being slain in battle, he vowed he would do everything he could to make sure they were the last. A promise he may not be able to keep, he knew, but the sharpness of the sorrow he felt at the moment compelled him to make it.

Although each letter contained a similar message of explanation and condolence, Legolas took care to insert a few lines that said something unique about the particular elf he was honoring, along with an item from the elf's belongings, so that each missive would read like a personal note rather than a cold announcement. After the last one had been written and signed, he sighed and stood to stretch himself. He had considered returning to the Greenwood himself to meet the families; nothing could replace a personal visit. But at present, he really wanted to find out more about the attackers and to track them down if he could. He decided two other elves would leave for Greenwood tomorrow to deliver them on his behalf, and he would go himself at a later time.

Right now, they had to dress and prepare for the ceremony at twilight. Tonight, they would gather at the graves of their fallen kin to sprinkle blossoms and scented water on them, and they would sing songs of lament to honor them beneath Ithil and the stars of Varda.

* * *

In the White City, the king of Gondor looked on the same stars at twilight and thought fondly of the friend who used to sing under them. One more dawn and one more moonrise, and he would ride to that friend. 


	13. Choices

_**Note: **I am posting this chapter sooner than intended – and made a little addition to it – in honor of _**Shadowfax2931 / Amanda's **_birthday today. Happy birthday. _

_Thank you to the faithful readers and reviewers, who assure me that I am writing for someone. _

* * *

CHAPTER 13: CHOICES 

The darkness of the night above the Table seemed to redden with the heat of the dark figure as Sarambaq exploded with fury at his minions who had managed to escape the clutches of the elves of Ithilien. Returning to the Table many minutes ago, their hearts had sunk when the light of their torches revealed the shapes of their master and his demon beast waiting for them. Fear and trepidation enveloped them now and coursed through their veins as they faced their master's wrath.

"How could you fail to take him!" the dark figure bellowed, towering threateningly above the men who cowered before him. "It was the right time, the right place! Had he been in the White City, or under the protection of his father, you would not have the ghost of a chance, but in the woods – ! And the elves were fewer then! It was the right time and place! How could you fail?"

No one knew if they were meant to answer that question, but one minion, bolder or perhaps more foolhardy than the rest, replied, "The elves fought strongly, Master. We did not think they would resist so …"

"Yes, fool! You did not think!" the dark master's voice roared straight into the speaker's face, shocking him into a quaking silence. "Fools, imbeciles." His ire was growing by the minute as he paced back and forth. Suddenly, he stopped and turned on the cowering figures again.

"Was anyone taken?"

"Yes, Master," the same man answered, shaking and expecting another roar in the face. "We think perhaps two, though we cannot be sure."

"Scum," the dark figure muttered again. "Worthless scum. If they talk…"

More pacing, more muttering, as the air seemed to grow redder. Watching him warily with eyes that seemed to be playing tricks, some of his silent minions actually thought they saw him growing larger, until, with a shock that sent shivers down their spines, they realized that he reminded them of the Dark Lord Sauron.

* * *

_How came the folk of Thranduil to fail in their trust? _

_The spear began to burn in the flame of Aragorn's words. But to his horror, new faces now looked at him with fire in their eyes – the faces of the families of the dead elves. They opened their mouths but no words came, just flames, more flames, and each breath was filled with grief, grief that took shape and swirled and wrapped itself as flame around the spear. The fiery object, pointed at him like an accusing finger, came closer and closer, faster and faster…_

"_Daro! Daro!" _Legolas shouted for it to stop, and sat bolt upright.

The elf woke up in a cold sweat again, just as he had the last few times the nightmare haunted him. He cursed it as he slowed his breathing, looking around him. He was in his _talan_, alone, in the middle of a woodland night, and no accusing faces were anywhere near him. The letters he had written lay neatly stacked on the small dresser nearby.

A slight rustle of leaves, light footsteps and a fair voice, laced with concern, came from outside the closed door. "_Heru nin? _My lord?"

With their sharp ears, one or more of the elves must have heard his shout. Perhaps his curses too.

"I am fine," he hurriedly assured them from where he sat on his bed. "Just a small disturbance."

He sighed when he heard them descending the tree and lay back down, placing a hand over his eyes.

_Will the nightmares ever stop?_ he asked to no one in particular. _Are they all so angry at me? Do they all blame me?_

Unbidden, a single tear trailed down the side of his face.

_What more could I have done? Ai, what more could I have done? I am but an elf. If I had the foresight of an Istari or the power of the Valar, I could have prevented this. Do you all blame me? My friends, my kin… Estel? Do you all feel I have failed you? _

He stifled a sob, and in the darkness of the _talan_, bathed faintly in the light of Ithil, the Wood elf searched his heart. His mind wandered the pathways of his memories, lingering on the smiles on the faces of the slain elves, the words they had exchanged, the songs they had sung for hundreds of years. Aragorn's Ranger face came into view, fresh with the vigour of youth and alive with laughter as he jested, the grim set of his jaw as they walked side by side through the darkness and death of Hollin, Moria, Helms' Deep, Aragorn throwing himself on orcs threatening to slice through his friend, Aragorn clasping his arm when his own life was saved by the swift arrow of the Woodland elf, his smile radiant with ecstasy as he embraced his elf friend at his wedding, his face soft with gratitude when Legolas returned with elves out of the Greenwood, Aragorn seeking him out to exultantly share the joy of the birth of his son, the face of the king gradually lined with the weight of kingship, the two companions sipping wine quietly, wordlessly, in the moonlit gardens of Minas Tirith, lost in memories and the warm comfort of a friendship that did not question.

Long and hard Legolas looked into his heart. _Do they blame me? _

Finally, an answer came back to him. A tentative answer, poised on the edge of a knife, to fall either way.

_No, not them. It is I who blame myself. The nightmares are of my own making. _

_Or are they?_

_We have been through so much together. Our friendship is stronger than this. I know this._

But something at the back of his mind nettled him, telling him this was hard to accept, making him feel guilty as if he was being allowed to take the easy way out. What? What? Why is this not right?

The words. Aragorns' words. _Fail in their trust… Can I trust the safety of my kingdom to no one? _

Legolas hissed through his teeth. He could not forget them. They were the reason his heart could find no tranquility. Not yet.

_But I will overcome this nightmare. I have to. _

As the soft sounds of nocturnal woodland animals and insects, and whispers of a cool scented breeze floated in through the open windows, Legolas allowed them to soothe him.

_I will find Aragorn's enemy. _That was his last thought as he drifted back into sleep.

* * *

The Wood elf kept himself busy from the moment he woke from the troubled sleep. 

Earlier in the day, he had sent off the two elves to the Greenwood, armed with his letters he had written, one of which was to his father. Thranduil had never been very happy with his son's decision to come south, and Legolas knew this news would only add to his displeasure. Pushing that thought to the back of his mind, he had spent the rest of the time examining the borders, doing anything and everything he could to take his mind off the questioning taking place and the answers he was waiting for.

The rain clouds gathering overhead did little to cheer his mood. As Anor slowly slid into the west, her radiant fingers penetrating the grey blanket every now and then to touch the leaves of Ithilien in brief, golden caresses, the first drops of rain came. Sipping berry juice from a goblet, Legolas raised his eyes to the sky and studied it. The rain clouds were churning overhead but the winds were strong, blowing them to the south. They would not be the ones receiving the brunt of the storm.

_It will be a stormy night in the White City_, he observed, as his golden hair whipped in the wind. Already distant flashes of light could be seen further south and west where the City lay.

Ignoring the light dizzle, and sheltered from much of it by the roof of branches and leaves above, Legolas pondered on just how he hoped to find the guilty ones and bring them to justice. Eldarion might be out of danger, but Aragorn would want to free his family of further threats, now that they had seen how far the enemy was willing to go to get to the king's son. Of course the threat had to be removed.

Legolas wanted to help Aragorn, but even if they did manage to find out the enemy's base, he could not hope to launch an assault with the few elves he had. These Men seemed trained. They were not as skilled as elves – _thank Eru for that_, _or the consequences would have been worse_ – nor were they as capable as the armies of Gondor and Rohan, but they were organised and trained, he noted. No, he could not risk the lives of the Ithilien elves in a march on their camp. He would need Aragorn's armies for that, though he loathed the thought, wishing he could spare the king the danger.

He reached a tentative decision. Faramir's interrogator would probably get more answers out of the prisoner held in Minas Tirith, but in the meantime, perhaps he could make their own captive in Ithilien show him the way to the hideout, or as close to the hideout as possible. He could scout out the vicinity and bring back information that would help them develop a better plan of attack.

He realized he had been assuming these were stray bands of outlaws, but he really did not know who or what they were.

_I will find out what I can find out soon enough_, he thought.

He needed to calm himself, to contemplate. Soon, he found himself sitting in the rain, against the huge oak in which Eldarion's tree-house was built, the _talan _in which the child had faced the frightening attack. Legolas listened to the wind sighing through the oak leaves, finding comfort. Like all Wood elves, he was able to commune with trees, not in words, but through a sense of what they were feeling, as if they could indeed speak with him. He could feel the thrum of the old tree immediately as it welcomed the contact with the Wood elf. He smiled at the sense of satisfaction from the oak as its leaves were bathed in the late afternoon shower.

Before long, he was thinking through his plans.

Am I doing the right thing? Should I wait? 

He sensed a hum of sympathy from the tree at his hesitation. Legolas placed a hand on a large root, feeling as if a friend were beside him. The oak hummed again, coursing earthy tones through the elf's sensitive body, and the image of Aragorn flashed in Legolas' mind. He lifted his face to the rain.

_Or should I wait for Aragorn to make a decision? But what can Aragorn do now? He is worried enough over his son, he cannot think about this now. _

The tree hummed slowly now, keeping a rhythm. Legolas responded to that rhythm, slowing his thoughts.

_I should wait for Aragorn to act. _

Legolas, however, could not convince himself to do that. _The enemy has just failed. We cannot wait for him to make new plans. We need to strike before he does it again._

A murmur, like a sigh of understanding, resonated in the wood.

_I cannot stay and do nothing. I have already said I would make amends, redress the wrong. This is what I can do. _

The oak hummed a note of warning then, and Legolas waited. Not disagreement, he decided, but a warning.

_You worry that I might fail, that I might be seen. I will be killed. _

Legolas hesitated only a moment before he responded.

_It will not be the first time I ride into uncertainty and danger._

The tree hummed again, uneasily this time, sending out low, deep notes of melancholy.

_Your elves will die with you. _A distant peal of thunder reached the elf's ears.

The statement sent a thrill of shock through the elf, as if the tree had actually spoken, so deep was its lament. At the thought, Legolas' eyes wandered over to where some of the elves were gathered, talking and laughing a little. Beneath the trees, the fair faces, filled with the light of life and tilted towards the rain even as his was, were so radiant that he felt a sharp ache as he imagined the light gone from them. Their voices were lifted in a song of rainbows and colors, its sweetness grazing his heart. He remembered the vow he had made yesterday: no more deaths if he could help it.

_Then I will go alone. No one else needs to lose his life. _

The hum from the tree was somber.

_I may not lose mine. I only wish to scout._

The tree did not lose its note of sorrow and sympathy, but now it throbbed strongly. With… pain?  
Legolas was puzzled. Not its own pain, the elf thought. Then whose? A sudden gust of wind blew a smatter of rain into his face. The tree pulsed more strongly, and Legolas felt the answer come to him.  
Your own pain. You are doing this because you are hurt. 

It was not an accusation, it was not a condemnation. It was a simple statement from another living being helping him to come to terms with his own feelings.

Long years of a deep friendship guided Legolas' response: _Yes, but he spoke in anger. It is not what his heart feels…that is my hope. _

He felt the note of doubt from the old tree.

_I believe so._

Now the tree pulsed again with doubt, more strongly, demanding an answer to… a question?

_What, my friend? What do you ask?_ Legolas queried.

The throbbing increased, and again the image of Aragorn appeared in the elf's mind.

_You ask if this is what Aragorn would want? _

The tree hummed agreement

Legolas smiled sadly. _Perhaps not. Perhaps I am being foolish. I do not know if this is the right decision. _

The elf turned around and knelt before the tree, pressing his wet forehead and palms against the equally wet trunk as he made his decision.

_But I want to regain his trust. If I die, I die trying. _

The tree hummed its doubt again, but Legolas' mind was made up.

_I will do this for him. This is my choice._

The old oak's thrums softened then and slowed into rest even as the shower of rain lightened. Even unbidden, it had played its part, not to choose for Legolas, but simply to listen as the elf weighed and confirmed the decision for himself.

"_Hannon le_, old friend," the elf whispered, and got up.

* * *

Dusk had descended and the rain had stopped when Legolas heard joyful greetings in the main clearing where the elves usually gathered. Walking over quickly, he saw Hamille, Lishian and the elves who had returned from the White City dismounting from their horses, taking off their wet cloaks and shaking the wetness from hair that had escaped protective hoods. 

Smiling, Legolas greeted each of them, and they clasped each other.

"The skies wish to wash the City tonight, my lord," Hamille jested, smiling. "We just escaped the torrents."

They retreated to a long table where some elves quickly laid out wine, juice, bread and fruit for the refreshment of the travelers. Most of the wounds were almost completely healed, but studying their pale faces, Legolas reminded all the recuperating elves to rest after the meal. Their cloaks had fortunately kept them dry for the most part. He was truly glad to have them back in the woods where the trees and blossoms and open spaces would be as healing as food and medicine for them.

Hamille, with a bright smile, placed Arwen's large basket on the table before his prince, and sat down beside him.

"A gift from the queen," he announced cheerfully. "I kept it dry. She gave me express instructions to see you eat the contents."

Legolas gave a small grin, but his face turned serious as he asked, even before checking the contents of the basket: "How is the young prince?"

"Well awake and recovering well, my lord," came the confident reply, which pleased Legolas immensely. "Queen Arwen assured me herself and wanted you to know it too."

"That is good. Thank the Valar," Legolas breathed, his fingers tracing the woven patterns on the wicker basket. "I cannot imagine what I would have done if he had…if it had been worse."

"Worry not, _bridhon nin_. I believe he will be beseeching you for archery lessons before long," Hamille jested, pleased that a smile lit the elf prince's face at those words. He paused before adding, "King Elessar sends you his respects and thanks."

He saw Legolas stiffen slightly at the mention of the king, and the smile threatened to fade from the fair face, but he had to convey the entire message he had been entrusted with. "He said he will meet with you as soon as he is able… and that he truly wishes it."

The smile returned, but now it seemed pensive. _Why does friendship with the Edain have to be so complicated, _Hamille wondered, shaking his head slightly.Wishing to cheer his prince up again, he pointed to the basket and asked teasingly: "Now, are you going to share the treats with us?"

To Hamille's satisfaction, Legolas chuckled. Removing the calico cloth covering the basket's contents, the elf prince teased him in return: "Are you certain you did not consume some on your ride home?"

The elves laughed and their eyes lit up when neatly packed and tasty-looking blueberry beckoned to them from the basket. After removing a tart with nimble fingers, Legolas pushed the basket to the other elves.

One of the elves spoke, looking at Lishian. "It is the anniversary of Lishian's birth today, let us drink to his happiness. And perhaps he can have two tarts!"

Joyful voices cheered and joined in the toast as Lishian blushed.

"Thank the Valar you are still with us to share this, Lishian," his soft-spoken prince said with heartfelt appreciation, and everyone nodded. Looks of sadness crossed their faces as they remembered Galean and the other elves who were no longer there, and Legolas briefly regretted having reminded them of their absence. He quickly added in a more cheerful tone: "Come, these tarts were not baked merely to be looked at!"

The elves laughed and set upon the basket again. As the sixth tart was being carefully removed from the basket, the elf who had lifted it noticed a piece of paper wedged in a corner of the basket. He dislodged it and read the writing on it.

"There is a note for you, my lord," he informed Legolas and handed him the note.

Puzzled, the elf took the paper and noted his name written on it in a graceful Elvish script. It had to be Arwen's, he thought. Unfolding it, he read the contents.

Stealing a discreet glance, Hamille observed his prince's eyes glisten. Not wishing to invade his privacy, he quickly engaged the other elves in a narration of an amusing incident with one of the healers in Minas Tirith, shifting the focus from the elf prince.

Legolas folded the paper, tucked it into the side pocket of his shirt, and turned his head to swiftly wipe the wetness from his eyes before facing his friends again with the same pensive smile from before. Hamille did not miss the traces of moisture on his prince's long lashes, but noted that the fair face framed by soft golden hair seemed a little, just a little, comforted.

The clear sapphire eyes of the elf prince were trained on an elf narrating his experience, but his mind was running over the words he had read in Sindarin:

_Estel grieves. He loves you and his regret is deep. Be patient, and trust in what you share. _

Determination flashed in the blue eyes.

_Even more so now, I will try to find out who hurt his family, _he vowed

The little gathering in the clearing was interrupted when one of the elves who had been questioning the prisoner approached them to inform Legolas of the outcome.

"_Bridhon nin, _we have been given some information," he said, addressing his prince.

Legolas bade him sit and listened to what he had to say. Quickly, the elf told him that the man's master was named Sarambaq, and that he had his halls in Adhûn near a river that flowed into the Sea of Rhûn. The same thought that had crossed the mind of the interrogator in Minas Tirith flashed through Legolas' mind now: _Faramir had guessed correctly_.

"But Sarambaq was not with them that day, my lord. Only his men came."

_Coward_, Legolas thought. "What does Sarambaq want with the king's son? Did he say?"

"No, my lord. He said naught of that, he knows only his master wants the king's son alive. I believe he truly does not know more. He says the one they took to the White City knows more, he was one of the leaders."

"Very well," Legolas nodded and thanked the elf. "_Hannon le. _I have only two more things to say to him myself."

The prisoner was sitting on the grass, hunched over, his legs bound with a metal chain to a tree. Food and water had been given to him.

Legolas stopped in front of the man and nodded to Lanwil, who stood guard nearby.

"Take some rest and food," he told the other elf. "I will speak to him alone."

Legolas waited till Lanwil had left to join his friends in the evening meal, out of the range of hearing. He did not want any of the elves to have knowledge of what he was about to ask and say to the man. He studied the prisoner in silence. He saw the dirty clothes and disheveled appearance, the long rough hair and lean frame, leaner than most men were. Something about him reminded Legolas of … what? He could not quite place it. Was it the large eyes? The look of defiance in them? The gaunt face? The way he sat, almost doubled over? Was it…?

Legolas did not know yet. He looked at the figure in disdain._ Yet he is but a minion, doing what he is told, _the elf reminded himself and his look softened.

"What is your name?"

The prisoner looked at him with unfriendly eyes. "Brûyn," he answered curtly.

"Very well, Brûyn. My friends have asked you all the questions you claim you can answer," Legolas stated. The man nodded. "I have one more. How far is – Adhûn, is it not? – how far is it from here?"

The man stared back with defiance. But Legolas' eyes were steady; he did not waver. Finally, the man squirmed as he answered, "Two weeks, if we walk fast. Three maybe, if we go slowly."

"What if we ride?" Legolas pressed.

"I cannot answer that, I have never ridden here."

Legolas nodded, accepting the response as the truth. "I have one more thing to say to you tonight, but it is not a question. It is a command. Had you come to our realm in peace, you would be our guest. But you came uninvited and with hostility, and you are now our prisoner. You will have to do as we tell you."

The man glared at him with a look of rebelliousness and curiosity.

"I need you to show me the way to Sarambaq's place – where he lives."

The man instantly started and shook his head vehemently. "He will kill me!" he declared in horror.

"You fear him, your master?"

"Yes! His anger will know no bounds."

"He will kill us both if he sees us, but if you lead me where he cannot see us, he cannot kill us. We will simply approach the place, then turn around and come back here. I cannot release you, you must know that. Lead me so that he does not see."

The man kept shaking his head, insisting that he dare not. He squirmed and tried to escape the chains that bound him. "No! No!" he cried, as the chains rattled.

The small commotion attracted the attention of the elves at their meal a distance away, and Legolas saw Lanwil get up slowly from his seat. He held up a hand as a signal for the elf to stay where he was.

Legolas looked back at the man. He stepped closer and spoke in a low tone, quickly but firmly, holding the man's eyes with his own.

"The Lord of the White City will not let this matter rest for long. Look, if you do this now, I will bring you back and you can stay in the White City to be judged by King Elessar, who will be a much fairer master than Sarambaq can ever be. But if you do not show me the way now, he will lead his armies there soon, and we will hand you back to Sarambaq. We will imprison you with him, wherever he spends the rest of his days. You will face him till the end of yours. Does that prospect sound good to you?"

Brûyn glared at Legolas, knowing he was being given little choice.

"What is your choice?"

As the man mulled this over and looked long at Legolas, a strange look came into his eyes and he seemed to peer more closely at the elf, studying his hair and his face. Without warning, he leered. The elf could not help a shiver as he encountered the focused stare and for some inexplicable reason, paled and unconsciously took several steps back. At his movement, Lanwil started making his way back to them at a hurried pace.

To Legolas' surprise, Brûyn relaxed his stare then and replied, "I will take you."

"Good," Legolas whispered and added sternly, "We leave at first light tomorrow. Speak to no one else about this. Do not cross me on this."

The prisoner swallowed at the power in the elf's bright eyes and nodded.

Lanwil reached them moments later and he looked from Legolas to the prisoner, puzzled. Legolas placed a hand on the elf's arm to reassure him he was fine, and he gave a final nod to the prisoner, who only stared at him in silence.

"Why did you not finish your meal?" Legolas asked Lanwil kindly in Sindarin.

The elf looked curiously at his prince, not totally convinced that all was as innocent as it seemed, but answered politely: "I have eaten enough, _Bridhon nin_."

Legolas smiled. "Will you do something for me before you retire tonight? Could you wash the filth off our prisoner and give him fresh clothes?"

"Our clothes?" The elf asked, horrified at the thought of putting elvish clothes on the body of the disgusting man.

Legolas gave a small laugh and a shrug of his slender shoulders. "They may be too elvish for him, and ill-fitting, but what else do we have?"

Lanwil's eyes narrowed even more. _Could this not wait till morning_, he wondered, but he replied: "Of course."

Mumbling his thanks, Legolas returned to his meal and his quiet plans. He could not fathom what these strange people wanted from Aragorn and his son, but he had to help to remove this threat.

It was only after he walked away that Legolas realized what had bothered him about the prisoner: a dark, black shadow seemed to be around him all the time, like a cloak or a second skin. Legolas knew of only one place in Arda that he had actually stepped into, where he had always sensed the same shadow of blackness covering everything. He shuddered at the memory.

* * *

At that very moment, Aragorn himself was shuddering, and a chill enveloped him. The fierce storm that flayed the White City with whips of rain and lightning could not match the tumult in his own heart as a dark plan was revealed to him. 


	14. Face to Face

**_Alison, Deana, Brina, Amanda, Caunoiech and other reviewers:_**_Thank you._

_Yes, things will move now. So will Aragorn – very soon._

* * *

CHAPTER 14: FACE TO FACE 

Aragorn's brow was furrowed as he sat deep in thought in his library, Faramir seated in the chair across from him. He had been depressed since lunch, after finding out about Legolas' wound, but determined that he would ride to Ithilien the next day, no matter what anyone said. But now his Steward had come with information gleaned from the prisoner.

At this point, he felt like driving his sword Anduril through any of the attackers that had harmed his family, wounded Legolas, and caused the death of several elves. He was glad now that he had left the interrogation to Faramir, afraid that his own emotions might have affected the progress. Indeed it seemed to be going well without him.

"So, Sauron even recruited forces from the region around the Sea of Rhûn," the king murmured. "Far was his reach, and we were not aware."

Faramir nodded. "We could not know the full extent of his domain or his influence," he said. "Even now the odd band still plagues us, as you well know, Elessar."

"Our armies incapacitated many bands, we cleaned up many camps," Aragorn said, shaking his head as he tried in vain to retrieve Sarambaq from his mental records. "He wants revenge, you say, and for his son, so I must have fought them and killed his son, I guess. But our enemies were many as we battled from Rohan to the Black Ships to the Fields of Pelennor and even at the Black Gates of Mordor." He sighed.

"Aye, Faramir," he continued in a subdued tone. "Our enemies had faces and names, as our own men did, but even if we saw the faces of those we fought, we knew them not, looking upon them only as the servants of the Dark Lord. Yet – and yet, many of them had ones they loved. Wives perhaps, and sons and daughters, and brothers and sisters." The images of Arwen, Eldarion, and his elven family in Imladris played in his mind.

Faramir swallowed, as he recalled how he himself had pondered on that realization one day as he watched a Southron die from an arrow launched from his bow. That had been a living being before he felled him. He understood his king's sorrowed reminiscence and sought to comfort him.

"But in the heat of battle, where one seeks to end the life of another, and a blade is placed at your neck, Elessar, who has the choice to stop and think about whose kin it is?"

"Yet that changes not the grief of he who loses, even if he is the one who encroaches," Aragorn pointed out. "And most of them were but under the enchantment of Sauron, they could not see the evil they were aiding. Even if they could see, they still felt kinship."

Faramir could find no rejoinder to that, for it was true. Sad, but true. The two lords of Gondor continued to sit in pensive silence for a while.

"What is done is done, Elessar," the Steward said at last. "You have been a merciful master to those we took prisoner, and freed many who would never have tasted freedom had Sauron overcome Middle Earth. But you cannot win the love or understanding of those who will not see the great king you are."

Aragorn laughed a little bitterly and brushed his hand through his hair. "Greater kings than I there have been, Faramir, though I thank you for your loyalty."

"It is not loyalty from which my words come, it is from truth."

"Some pay the price for being loyal, my friend," Aragorn said unexpectedly. "Those loyal to Sauron and Saruman suffered much."

"It was not loyalty in the hearts of those who served Sauron and Saruman, Elessar. It was fear. Fear to act against a stronger power can make one helpless and be mistaken for faithfulness. They were blind."

Aragorn raised his steely grey eyes to study Faramir's own soft brown ones, and said with a smile: "Since that night at the stables, you have continued to astound me with your wisdom, my friend."

Faramir cast his own eyes down, a little embarrassed. A note of sadness crept into his voice now. "War and death has taught me much, Elessar. And before that, the rule of a stern father whose word I dared not disobey. The loss of my brother…" He faltered and paused, while Aragorn waited patiently for him to continue.

"Loyalty does have a price, as you said," Faramir said at last. "But one has to choose wisely whom to be loyal to. I know that Boromir, before he died, would have taken Sauron's Ring of Power for his own. And yet not for himself. It would have been for our father, who foolishly desired it. Faithfulness it was that Boromir showed, and he paid the price for it. You spoke true." He seemed to have more to say, so Aragorn waited again.

Faramir drew a deep breath and continued in a rush. "The loss of my brother led me to question where my loyalties should lie. Through the years of your reign, Elessar, I have come to see where it is worth pledging them. You have no need to question whether they are rightly placed, for they are. Your people see it. Eomer is loyal to you because he sees what I see. Legolas himself – "

He stopped short when he saw the smile vanish from the king's face at the mention of the name, replaced by a look of sadness. Faramir bit his tongue but quickly decided that what he wanted to say had to be said. "Legolas would not have left the Greenwood to devote himself to your realm and to you, if he did not feel the same."

"Then he too pays the price," Aragorn said softly. "He has been nothing but loyal to me, no matter what I… how I…"

Faramir knew Aragorn was still tormented by what had taken place in the Houses of Healing. "What happened that night – " he began.

"Is something I shall regret for the rest of my life," Aragorn finished sharply.

"Then regret it, Elessar," Faramir said unexpectedly. "But know this: you have returned to the throne of Gondor after a long, long absence of the line of Elendil, and you have much to do still to see the glory of Gondor fully restored. Even after that, the running of the realm cannot be easy. The weight you carry on your shoulders is a great one, as I said. You anticipated this, my lord, we all knew it, and Legolas knows it."

Aragorn cast his eyes down at those words, and his words hinted at despair. "King of Gondor and Arnor am I, and yet I am powerless to keep that which is dear to me."

"You will not lose his friendship," Faramir spoke firmly against the fear that he knew Aragorn would not put into words. "Nor his love, or his loyalty."

At the king's silence, Faramir pressed on. "Perhaps you choose not to see it, but you must know this, Elessar: the people of Gondor, and the noblest of Rohan and of Greenwood choose to be loyal to you because they know that in whatever you did in the war, or after, you followed the right path. If there had been choices, you made the right ones. There is no question in our minds. And I wish for the chance to tell Sarambaq that, if we should meet."

Aragorn's eyes were a little moist at the end of Faramir's speech. "And meet we should," Aragorn agreed. "We cannot allow him to move freely for too long, now that his intentions – or part of them – are known to us. I have to make sure he makes no further attempts to take Eldarion."

The king placed a hand on Faramir's knee and smiled his thanks before he spoke again.

"Let us wait and see what else the man from Adhûn can tell us today." _Before I leave_, he added silently, not doubting that the Steward would have heard them anyway.

* * *

The prisoner in the dungeons of Minas Tirith had been fed just enough food and water to quell pangs of hunger and thirst, but the interrogator did not want him to get too comfortable, for there were still questions he needed to answer. Faramir and Aragorn had been briefed on whatever information had been gleaned earlier, but the interrogator felt there was still more to learn. 

The man was told to sit back on the floor of his cell, with the interrogator standing before him, arms folded, a whip trailing from one hand, and looking sufficiently threatening.

"Back to giving me answers as agreed," the large man said.

The prisoner scowled but said nothing.

"Remember what will happen should you fail to provide answers. No mercy this time. Your leader Sarambaq is not the only one who can show wrath." Secretly, however, the large man was pleased that the answers had been given so far without the need for violent treatment.

"What was your question again?"

The interrogator answered patiently. "What did your master wish to do with the king's son?"

"Revenge, like I said. Is that so hard to understand? The king destroyed my master, his home, his family. His son died in the war. But he lived and he has not forgotten it."

"It was war, and the king was only fighting to rid the land of the Dark Lord's servants. You can hardly blame the king for that!"

"Not I! What care I? Were you not listening? It is Sarambaq who wants revenge."

The interrogator scowled at the arrogance of the prisoner and felt like striking him, but he had to keep the man talking. _Sarambaq must want to kill the prince so that the king would suffer the same grief_, the man of Gondor thought. Yet, the order had been given to take the prince alive.

"Why does your master want him alive?"

Two possible reasons ran through his mind: either he would be held as ransom for some demand, or…

Ködil sneered. "Is it not clear?"

Did he want the child taken alive so that he could do the deed himself? The man of Gondor shuddered. The people of the city were very fond of the little prince.

"Your master has no mercy indeed. The prince is but a child," the large man said angrily. "You should be thankful the poison was not enough to kill him, or you would feel the full wrath of the king and the people of Gondor!"

A strange look came into the prisoner's eyes at those words, and he studied the large man in silence.

"Dim-witted were you and your companions to use poison," the large man of Gondor continued, "for if you had killed the prince, then your dark master's plans to take him alive would have been for naught!"

"It was not meant to kill," Ködil retorted, uttering his words flatly, almost absent-mindedly, for he seemed preoccupied with something else.

"But it could well have," came the angry reply.

Ködil made no reply, but continued to study the interrogator's face with rapidly moving eyes, as if he could read something there. The interrogator could almost see thoughts churning in the mind of Sarambaq's minion. The large man decided he did not enjoy the scrutiny and was about to tell Ködil as much when the latter suddenly and mysteriously said, "Take me to see the king and his son."

"What?" The interrogator could not believe his ears.

"Take me to the king and his son," he said more slowly.

"I will do no such thing. What are your intentions?"

"I think I know something the king will pay dearly to learn. If I tell him, I want to be set free."

"There is no way he will let you go."

"Then I will tell you nothing more."

The interrogator was angry now and moved forward menacingly, causing the prisoner to back away. "If you keep secrets from us, we will let you rot. If we choose to keep you alive, it will be by a thread, only by a thread. I will personally make your life a misery."

Ködil stared at the man, a look of challenge in his mean eyes. The interrogator did not flinch. Finally, the Adhûnian gave in. "All right, I want your assurance you will not harm me and I must be fed. But I need to see the king and his son before I can tell you more. Take me to see them, or you will get nothing!"

The prisoner seemed very insistent, and he would say no more. The look in his face told the interrogator that there was more to the request than he could understand. He could not fathom the man of Adhûn's intentions, so he decided it would be best if Lord Faramir himself spoke to him.

Faramir was in a meeting with the King and his Ministers which lasted three hours. It might have gone on longer – after all, the king had been away for three months, and much needed to be discussed, not least of all the current threat to the royal family – but for the gathering storm. Ominous grey clouds, flashes of lightning and rumbling thunder – as yet distant but threatening to make their presence felt overhead by nightfall – created an atmosphere of disquiet that matched the mood in Aragorn's heart, and he gladly called a halt to the meeting, somewhat to the relief of all.

An hour after the meeting, in response to a message delivered from the dungeons, a curious Faramir found himself in the dungeons with the interrogator and the prisoner. But after thirty minutes, he learnt no more than the interrogator had beyond the fact that the Adhûnian truly felt it was imperative that he met with the king himself. They thus cleaned the prisoner up and dressed him in clean clothes before binding his hands and leading him into the hallways of the court of King Elessar.

* * *

By the end of the evening, Aragorn found himself ready to withdraw into solitude. His earlier talk with Faramir in the library had somewhat assured him that he had had little control over whatever had transpired with Sarambaq in the war, but he could not bring himself to feel any less remorse over Legolas. Finding out that he had hurt his friend not only verbally but physically as well, no matter how inadvertent the action, haunted him, and he had barely managed to last through the discussions. Gratefully, he pushed back from the table and dismissed his Ministers. Faramir joined him for some tea and a private discussion on the merits of a trade agreement before the Steward was handed a message and excused himself, saying he needed to see the prisoner. 

_Good, more information_, _perhaps_,Aragorn thought. _The more we know, the faster we can plan a countermove. But I still leave for Ithilien tomorrow._

He looked out the window, and thought how the very air smelt of rain even before it came. As a Ranger, he had learnt to read the signs and to appreciate the green earthy tang that hung in the air before every storm. He savored the feeling of renewal, of a fresh start after each downpour.

_If only everything in life could be as easily cleansed_, he mused.

A sense of melancholy assailed him anew, but he took comfort in the thought that he would be seeing his friend soon. Hamille would have delivered his message by now. He retreated to his office to finish looking through the last of the papers he had to peruse, then gratefully retired to his chambers where he sat, balling his fists and pressing them against his forehead. Outside, the heavens had opened and released the storm. He did not know which was louder, the rain pounding against the stone walls of the chamber, or the pounding in his head.

Arwen came into the room not long after. One look at her husband told her all she needed to know. She sat beside him, took one of his hands in hers, and waited.

"I will not delay any more, Arwen," Aragorn choked out the words at last. "The court will have to wait. I will go at first light tomorrow."

A smile of understanding lit her fair face. "Estel, you were ready to leave that very night, and had you not promised Faramir to wait, you would have done so. Truth be told, my heart was torn between wishing you to go to him sooner and heeding the counsel of Faramir at a time like this, but I could not foresee the best course of action. Neither could you, but you did what you thought best then."

Aragorn looked up at her, seeing the smile in her eyes.

"Still, I would not have been surprised had you departed earlier today or even yesterday, despite your promise. But you honored it and now you can leave with a clear mind. Your pack is already prepared with clothing and your usual needs," his wife said. Aragorn felt a rush of comfort at her words. "Eldarion and I will be safe here in the city, as we were before. Worry not. Go and put both your hearts at ease, and you will return better able to carry out your duties."

Aragorn drew her into a tight embrace, softly breathing his love and gratitude into her ears. "My duties are not the most important of my concerns at this moment, _melleth, _my love"

"He knows your regret, Estel," she said soothingly, with a curious knowing smile, thinking of a piece of paper in a basket of blueberry tarts. "Now it is time for you to tell him so face to face, heart to heart. Speak not of just one night in a healing room, but of the months past, of a friend you missed more than you realized, of patience you were too burdened to notice, and of love you were too distant to feel."

Aragorn looked up, searching her eyes and finding support and gentle admonition.

"It has been there, Estel. _He_ has been there, beside you, always beside you. You cannot stop being the king, a good king. But now, you must be his friend as well. Take the time."

Aragorn closed his eyes, and they listened to the relentless slap of rain against the glass panes of the bay windows for a while before he spoke again, his sorrow almost palpable.

"No less high do I hold him in my esteem or dearer in affection than I did before, Arwen, you know that. Yet you speak the truth, I have been careless. One finger of blame I would not lay on him now should he wash his hands of me."

"He will not," Arwen reassured him. "His heart is purer than that. Just go to him."

Aragorn nodded. "Were it not for the storm tonight that provides yet another obstacle, I would leave now. But no later than first light will I depart, as I said, and I must first speak with Faramir."

As if in answer to a summons, a knock sounded on the door and the king and queen drew apart. Upon being granted permission to enter, in stepped Faramir. He cleared his throat.

"Elessar, forgive the interruption, but – " he seemed at a loss to continue. "A strange situation has presented itself." He cleared his throat again, suddenly feeling rather foolish at the thought of conveying the prisoner's request.

Curious, and a little amused at the discomfiture of his Steward, Aragorn prompted, "Sometimes the best way to say something strange is just to say it."

Taking a deep breath, Faramir repeated the exchange that had taken place between the prisoner and the interrogator as well as himself, watching surprise paint itself on Aragorn and Arwen's faces.

"He wants to see me?" the king asked incredulously and with some anger. "After what has happened, he wishes to face me? Not the wisest move to make."

"Not only you, Elessar, he wishes to see Eldarion as well. He seems to think it is important – he seems to have something else to tell us."

After the initial shock, Aragorn pondered for a moment. It was a strange request. "I am not certain how Eldarion will react when he sees someone who will remind him of that evening…"

Faramir shifted uncomfortably from leg to the other. "I really do not know what to think about all this. Do you wish me to send him back to the cell?"

"No, there is only one way to find out what this is about," Aragorn said. "Where is this – man from Adhûn, did you say? – where is he now?"

"In your council room, heavily guarded."

"And Eldarion?" This was directed to his wife.

"In the nursery," Arwen answered. "I will bring him there, and – prepare him."

"Thank you, my love." Aragorn's look was firm as he turned back to this Steward. "Faramir, I do not want him within ten yards of my son."

Faramir nodded. "It has been arranged," he assured Aragorn, and they left for the king's office.

* * *

Flashes of lightning through the long glass windows added to the abundant light of the torches in the council room where the two figures stood waiting. As instructed by Faramir, the interrogator and the man from Adhûn stood against the wall farthest from the entrance to Aragorn's council room. A long table stood between them and the entrance. Two guards stood within the room on either side of the door, and two others outside. 

Outside the room, Aragorn paused before opening the door, collecting himself. This was the first time he would be seeing one of the attackers face to face. He took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped in. By some quirk of fate, and as faithfully as the theatrics of Lord Burion, a crash of thunder accompanied the movement, creating a dramatic entrance for the Lord of the White City. The prisoner flinched.

Aragorn's face was a stern mask of controlled emotions as he cast cold eyes across the room upon the man from Adhûn who, with his vile companions, had brought anguish to those he loved. Aragorn briefly and silently praised Faramir's astuteness in choosing a meeting place where the long table would separate the prisoner from the royal family, but exactly who needed protection from whom, he was not sure. Aragorn wanted nothing more than for the loathsome man to taste the sting of Anduril, but he settled for gracing the latter with a steely stare.

Ködil was also staring at him. He had seen Faramir before, _so this must be the king of the White City_, he deduced. No mistaking the regal bearing of one of royal blood and the firm jaw of a leader.

Before either of them could speak, the sound of other footsteps approached, and soon the queen and her son were in the room as well. As soon as Eldarion entered, Aragorn drew the prince to his side and placed a hand protectively around the little shoulders. Arwen took one look at the prisoner and recognized him as the man who had come charging into the _talan_ that night. Instinctively, her hand went protectively to her son's chest. The prince took a little longer to place the man as one of the people who had frightened him that evening; when he did, he gave a small whimper and moved closer to his father. The fury of the storm outside did little to alleviate his feeling of fear.

"Well, we meet," Aragorn broke the silence first, his chin held high. "Does it satisfy your twisted mind in some way, to see my son that you tired to capture, into whom you sent your vile poison?"

The rain seemed deafening in the hush that followed. The whole room was silent as they waited for an answer from the man of Adhûn.

The shifty eyes of the man in question, however, traveled from the king to the prince, from father to son, and back, his face unreadable at first, his mind a whirl.

Then, as a flash of lightning illuminates the dark or as eyes that are closed finally open to see the light, it seemed to Ködil that everything fell into place, and every exchange that had taken place between him and the interrogator in all the questioning sessions he had gone through, every word they had uttered – all took on a new meaning.

To everyone's bewilderment, he did what no one expected him to do.

He laughed.

Mingled with an earsplitting crash of thunder which caused Eldarion to stop his ears and press further into the folds of his father's tunic, the laugh seemed to turn into an eerie cackle that froze every heart in the room save that of the man from the East.

With a gleam of satisfaction and scorn in his eyes, he looked from Aragorn to Arwen to Eldarion to Faramir and even to the interrogator and laughed again when they all exchanged looks of confusion. The large man beside him grasped his arm in a tight grip.

"Be silent!" he instructed fiercely.

"But you do not want me to be silent, you fool. You want me to talk, do you not? Give you answers? Tell you more?" he sneered in response.

"Speak then! What is it you have to tell us?" Aragorn demanded with all the authority of his regal status.

And speak he did.

As the man of Adhûn gave answers to the questions they asked – and to several they did not – Aragorn's face turned pale.

* * *

_The rest of the story is already in motion, but there may be a delay before the next two chapters,unless ten or more'sticks' threaten me to hurry, which is not likely. _-) 


	15. The Dawn of Truth

**_A longer note than usual: _**

_I did not expect my lightly made remark to receive the 'stick'-y responses it did, some of which were delightfully amusing. I really wanted the time (a delay for me means a week or two) to refine my next two chapters, but I also did make a sort of promise to bow to a ten-stick threat, and a promise is a promise, so…here is the next chapter (an important one), at least. _

_**Tithen Min, Soar, Acua, Livi, Black squirrel, orla, Tinnuial, elvingirl3737, lindahoyl **andregular reviewers: Thank you for your sticks, chocolates and first-born sons. I appreciate them all._

_**Mari: **Very kind words (blush), and hugely gratifying to know the writing comes across to you as such, for that is exactly what I hope to accomplish here. _

_Interesting to note how some consider Aragorn to be totally at fault and some, Legolas, for being sensitive (all in earlier chapters) – aaaah, who can fathom the mystery of what each mind and heart perceives. _

* * *

CHAPTER 15: THE DAWN OF TRUTH

Aragorn tossed and turned all night after what they had learnt from the prisoner hours earlier, and Arwen was hardly able to get any rest either.

The worst storm Minas Tirith had seen in years had lashed its fury on the city for two hours, and then rained steadily for two more, making it impossible for anyone to attempt venturing outdoors, let alone ride anywhere in it in the dark. After much discussion, the King, the Queen, and the Steward had all decided reluctantly to obtain what rest they could for the rest of the night. But even before first light, the king was up, washed and dressed, ready to leave for Ithilien.

After a light, hurried breakfast, he and Arwen went into Eldarion's room where he placed a quiet kiss on his son's forehead. Then he kissed Arwen goodbye in their bedchamber, and he left the shelter of the palace.

As usual, Aragorn took in the smell of a freshly washed land as he walked to the stables in the chill left by the storm. The same stable lad whom he had terrified two nights ago greeted him at the stables, having been woken up from a sound sleep in a warm bed by a guard of the Citadel. Seeing the youth shiver a little despite being wrapped up in a cloak, Aragorn smiled kindly on him. The king walked to his horse and patted the smooth skin of the well-groomed chestnut stallion that Legolas himself had trained for him. He had been riding it for six months now, but he suspected that the animal still felt closer to his elf trainer than to his master. Such was the love elves developed between themselves and the creatures they tamed.

"_Quel amrun_, Rallias," Aragorn greeted the beautiful animal, although it was not quite a good morning yet. The horse nickered softly.

Faramir appeared beside him, sleep still heavy on his face. Aragorn was quietly grateful to his faithful Steward to whom he entrusted the care of the city and family each time he left. The previous night, Faramir had insisted that at least two guards accompany Aragorn on his visit, since Aragorn would not agree to more, and Aragorn had acquiesced, only for the peace of mind of his Steward. Fleetingly, he recalled how Arwen had sent back her own guards from Ithilien and, for a moment, he understood how she must have felt.

"I know you will take care of them," he said quietly to Faramir, certain that the gentle Steward knew to whom he was referring. "I may not be long in Ithilien, but I do not yet know what I will find there, or what will happen. But I – I have to make things right first, and then, I do not know what he will decide – " he was lost for words for a moment as he pondered the situation they found themselves in.

"I understand, Elessar," Faramir said with a smile. "Take the time you need. Arwen and Eldarion will be safe here. Please tell Legolas… tell him… you know… "

It was Aragorn who smiled now. "I will, Faramir." He turned to go, but suddenly turned back and queried, "The riders, have you arranged for them – "

"Yes, worry not. They will leave today, as early as I can manage it. I have given them your message. They will ride with all haste."

With a final nod, the king mounted his horse and rode off, with two rather sleepy guards behind him, unaware that the reason for his going to the woods would, in a little while, be waking up himself, and departing from the place before long.

* * *

Legolas came awake from his elven reverie in his _talan_, in that small breath of time before Ithil graciously left the skies and Anor traced her own path into it to herald a new dawn. He lay still for a few minutes with his eyes closed and listened for the first bird call, the first flutter of wings, the first sound of a woodland creature's feet to welcome the birth of a new day in Arda.

_What would each new day be like in Valinor? Tranquil, restful…_ The thought came from nowhere, unbidden, surprising him.

Shaking off the thought, he sat up quickly. He dressed in a light shirt, a thicker tunic and strong leggings. Travel clothes, he mused. He had prepared his pack and equipment, and checked his weapons the previous night, and they lay ready at the door.

_I hope I will be able to leave without suspicion_, he said to himself.The elves, he knew, would not let him go alone if they realized where he was headed.

The previous night, he had spent two hours thinking through what he was about to do. If it took Brûyn two to three weeks to walk from Adhûn, it would take them just a few days on horseback if conditions were right and they could ride fast. But having to remain unseen might slow them down; they would have to keep to the cover of forests during the day. Still, all he wanted was to know the route, and as soon as they were close enough to the vicinity, they would turn back.

_If all goes well, I will be back here in little more than a week_, he had determined. He would give his friends the impression that he was taking the prisoner to Minas Tirith. _Now would be a good time for the absence of visitors from the City, for if they come, they will know I have not been there… and then…and then…_

He had been suddenly nervous. _They will reach the conclusion that I have gone towards Adhûn. What if they attempt to follow me? That is not what I wish. _

Dismay had overwhelmed him, but after a few moments, he had remembered that Brûyn would no longer be here. Without a guide, they would not know where to go. By the time someone came from the City – if at all anyone did – and by the time they could guess his route, he would already be on his way back, and no one would need to go further. With those hopeful thoughts – and reluctance to consider whether or not they were truly rational – the elf had fallen into a light sleep.

Now, wide awake and ready to proceed, he walked over to the window and looked out, breathing in the cool morning air and watching the last of Varya's lamps twinkle out in the dark sky.

Arwen's note from the basket last evening had given him a tiny measure of solace, a spark of hope that his friendship with his human friend was not as damaged as he had feared, that the man's trust in him was not dead and that they had not grown too far apart. But still, he had not heard it from Aragorn's own lips. It might have been Arwen's mistaken perception, or her own way of making him feel better.

He sighed. There was no point in musing over this now. He would have to get going.

A light mist covered the landscape of the woods, dissipating the light of Ithil so that Ithilien seemed like a place of magic. Walking silently over the dew-covered grass, he made his way over to where the prisoner was. Lanwil had cleaned him and given him fresh clothes as Legolas had asked him to. _Hannon le, _Lanwil, he thought silently. _This will make it less unpleasant to have him in front of me on the horse. _

At Legolas' approach, the elf on guard dropped lightly to the ground from where he had been resting in the branches of the tree to which the prisoner was tied. Brûyn, lying on a blanket spread on the grass, with another blanket over his body, stirred in his sleep.

"_Heru nin_," the elf addressed Legolas, who nodded.

"Fứillin, would you prepare Aérodel for me, please?" the elf prince requested, casting his eyes briefly in the direction of the stables. "I will need a saddle today."

Like all elves, Legolas rode bareback. But Brûyn would not be able to, and he did not want to take an extra horse on the journey and run the risk of the man riding off on his own if something should happen. The request made the other elf look at his prince in surprise, a curious expression on his face and a question on the tip of his tongue.

Legolas was prepared for this. He had pondered on what he would say to the others if they asked. He would give answers that contained truth, but which would not tell them exactly where he himself would be going. He now pointed to the sleeping form on the ground.

"The interrogators at the White City would be delighted with another informant," he answered vaguely, trying hard not to give any sign of his discomfort at hiding his true intentions.

Legolas kept his voice hushed, not for the sake of the sleeping prisoner, whom he would be waking soon, but so that no other elves would be drawn to what was going on. The recuperating elves would be asleep and the others on guard at the fringes of the woods. The previous night, he had taken care to post as many as he could on duty away from the main area of the elf settlement, suppressing a feeling of guilt as he did so. He had made some excuse for them to train their attention to the south and south east, and away from where they would be headed.

"You leave now, _heru nin_?" Fứillin enquired.

"Yes."

"It is very early," the elf could not help remarking, still hesitant to leave for the stables.

"I have matters to settle," came the immediate – and truthful – reply.

"Will you not take someone with you?" the elf persisted.

Legolas controlled a rising impatience, not at the elf, but out of an anxious need to depart before his true plans were revealed. "There is no need. He is just one man, and he will be bound."

The elf was still a little puzzled, and his eyes went briefly to the things in Legolas' hands. The bow, quiver and knives his prince carried did not merit interest, for the elves always carried their weapons whenever they left Ithilien. It was the pack that aroused his curiosity, but then, he was not about to question his prince on what it contained or what he was going to do with it. Perhaps they were just supplies for a longer stay in the White City.

"_Saes, _Fứillin, please," Legolas said, looking him in the eye, "and be quiet. Let us not disturb our sleeping friends. They still recover." The other elf bowed slightly, turned and walked into the darkness under the trees to do as he had been bidden.

Legolas breathed a small sigh of relief after he left, and turned to the task of waking up the prisoner. Brûyn looked dazed at being awakened so early.

"We leave now," Legolas whispered, releasing him from the tree and tying his hands securely behind his back.

The man yawned and tried to stretch himself. This time, Legolas' impatience was at him.

"Get up and move quickly," he hissed. Then he grabbed the man's shoulders and stared him hard in the eyes. "Remember, breathe not a word of where we are going to anyone, or you taste the blade of my knife."

Even in his sleepy state, Brûyn could not ignore the deliberate coldness in the elven eyes, and he nodded, swallowing.

Dawn was not far off but had not yet broken by the time they were both mounted on Aérodel, Brûyn seated sideways on the horse before the elf. As instructed, Fứillin had tied the man's legs with a short piece of rope so that they were not bound together but it would still be difficult for him to run or even walk should he attempt escape. The man was all but delighted with this arrangement, and neither did Aérodel seem particularly happy at having been saddled. Along with the slightly nervous elf who would be traveling with them both, they made a despondent little threesome. But Legolas had spoken softly to Aérodel, calming him so that he stood obedient and willing as Legolas tied his pack to the saddle. The elf's weapons were, as usual, strapped to his back.

Legolas was glad that none of the other elves had been drawn to the stables. Except for the small snorts of the equine creature, they had been quiet enough.

"Will you be gone long?" Fứillin asked, looking up at the elf on the horse.

"I will return as soon as I can, when matters have been settled. It may take several days," was the vague and carefully worded reply.

Fứillin nodded. "_Namárië_, _Bridhon nin,_" he said in farewell.

"_Namárië_," Legolas said in return, giving him a warm smile. "Please tell Hamille to watch over things in my absence."

With a click of his tongue and a last look at the landscape behind him, the Woodland prince guided his horse and his prisoner out of the clearing, melting into the chill mists of Ithilien. Legolas was glad for the mists, for when they came to the fringe of the woods, they would make it easier for him to evade the eyes of the elf guards in the trees when they had to seek the route to the north and east, in the opposite direction to the White City.

* * *

All through the journey, Aragorn thought about what he would say to his friend, how to convey to him all that needed to be conveyed. He could think of no easy way.

He and his escort moved slowly in the dark, for the clouds covered the moon, and the horses trod more cautiously than usual. The riders followed the route more from memory than from clear sight, for none of them carried a torch. If anyone were after them right now, a torch would announce their position as clearly as a blast from a horn would. As they left the City behind, the clouds gradually lessened, and the dawn came to paint the sky before them with reds and pinks and golds, slowly revealing the well-trod paths before them.

They rode faster as the sun rose advanced, and Aragorn saw that the previous night's storm had hardly touched this part of the country. The paths were not nearly as muddy as they had been leading out of the City. By late morning, they were approaching the eaves of Ithilien.

Aragorn found himself relaxing, breathing in the scent of the trees and flowers that Legolas and the elves of the Greenwood had lovingly nurtured back to life. Pines and beeches and oaks stood proudly, and the songs of joyous birds flying free greeted him. White and yellow blossoms floated down from the trees, and butterflies chased them in a dance choreographed by the wind. The serenity of the scene soothed him into weakness, and the purity of the colors – blues and greens and whites and golds and yellows – blessed it with a newness that left him with a sense of speechless awe he had not felt in many, many months. His heart ached as he thought back to the life he had lived in Imladris, the elven home he had grown up a lifetime ago, and to Lothlorien where he had first beheld and fallen in love with the beauty of Arwen. His breath hitched as he recalled his Ranger days when he had been so much more at liberty to travel the lands, as far as Legolas' home in Mirkwood and beyond. A picture of his friend's warm and breathtaking smile filled his mind.

_It has been too long since I came here_, he thought with a tear in his eye. _Too long._ _How could I have lost touch with this part of Legolas that he loves so deeply, with everything he is? He demands nothing, he gives so much, and he waits for me to come back. _

With those thoughts, he spurred his horse on, eager to see once more the elven light in his friend's fair face, to embrace his company and listen to his songs.

He was greeted by Hamille, Lanwil and several other elves as he turned into the clearing where the elves held most of their social activities. It was a small group, but many months, almost a year had it been since Aragorn saw this many elves gathered under the beauty of trees in woods so green. He looked admiringly at the fair faces, slender figures and flowing hair that matched every fluid move they made as they came to him, expressing both delighted surprise and puzzlement at his unexpected visit. Even as he dismounted, he noticed Hamille's eyes searching for something behind him. Aragorn lapsed into Sindarin as was customary whenever he was in the company of the elves. Politely giving the elvish greeting, he asked for Legolas immediately, expecting that the elf would offer to inform his prince about their arrival. But he was taken aback at the response he received.

"But my lord, he left early this morning," Hamille said as his friend took the horse's reins from Aragorn to lead the animal and the king's guards to the stables.

Aragorn stopped in his tracks, a note of anxiety and dismay in his voice. "Left? Left for where?"

Hamille and the other elves exchanged a puzzled look before Hamille answered: "For the White City, with the man we held captive. Did you not pass him?"

"You held someone captive?" The note of surprise in the king's voice was loud.

"Yes, one of the attackers. We caught him later that night, after Prince Legolas left for Minas Tirith," Lanwil explained. "I rode there to tell him the next day, and he came back here with me. He wanted the man held here for questioning."

Aragorn felt a rising sense of urgency but still needed to place events in sequence in his head. He was trying to remember when, if at all, he had heard about this other captive, when Hamille interrupted his reflections. "The prince learnt about it after he left the healing room," he offered softly, fixing his gaze on the king.

Aragorn looked into the eyes of the elf and read the hidden meaning and knowledge there. He flinched a little as he realized that Hamille had known all along. Did Legolas – ?

"He told no one, it was I who heard," Hamille intercepted in a voice barely above a whisper, reading Aragorn's mind. "He defended you to the end."

Aragorn swallowed and his eyes glistened. "I know he would have, and deep has been my regret over my careless words since. This is why I came, as I said I would," he whispered back. "There is no nobler friend than your prince, I have none truer."

Hamille seemed appeased at the sincerity in the man's voice, and his elvish smile was one of forgiveness. The other elves watched them, uncomprehending, unable to follow the tangent on which they had departed.

Fứillin's voice brought them back to the subject they had been on: "He left before dawn this morning."

At those words, Aragorn's heart sank, and a sudden fear gripped him. "We departed from the City before dawn as well, and if he had been riding in that direction, we would have crossed paths. We saw no one. Is there any reason he would have proceeded on any course other than the usual one?"

The elves looked at each other and shook their heads. "We can think of no reason for it," Hamille replied. "There is only one path we all take, the well-traversed one."

Aragorn nodded. "That is why I do not think he went to the City."

The elves now looked even more bewildered, and worry crept into their eyes as well. Hamille turned to face Fứillin, asking an unspoken question.

"That is where he said he was going," the latter said, then paused as he tried to recall the exact conversation he had exchanged with the elf prince. "Or perhaps not exactly…"

Apprehension gripped Aragorn like a cold claw as he asked Fứillin in alarm: "What exactly did he say?"

Within minutes, Fứillin had narrated the whole conversation, at the end of which the faces of Aragorn, Hamille and the other elves were noticeably even more anxious. Aragorn closed his eyes as he realized how cleverly Legolas had evaded telling Fứillin the truth and avoided telling a lie at the same time.

_He is not a good liar_, he thought. _He must have been planning this. _

"I did think it a little strange that he was going alone, but he would not let me question him about it," Fứillin finished unhappily, "and he would not let me wake anyone."

"This may have some bearing on the mystery of where he has gone," Lanwil spoke up suddenly. "I, too, thought it strange that he should have chosen to speak to the prisoner alone last night. He let no one hear what they said to each other. I wonder now if… if he had been set on some purpose even then."

"What did you find out from the one you held captive?" Aragorn enquired.

Lanwil told him what they knew of Sarambaq and his halls in Adhûn.

Aragorn's thoughts suddenly flew to what Legolas had said that night after his own outburst: "_I will go now to make amends, to redress the wrong that has been committed, as best as I can…_"

To make amends, redress the wrong… 

And then he knew.

When he looked at Hamille with wide eyes, he saw that the elf had guessed as well. Legolas must be going east with the prisoner. Aragorn's heart sank even further and his hands shook as he ran them through his dark hair. His voice, when he spoke again, was equally shaky and full of remorse.

"I rue my careless words even more deeply now, Hamille, for I fear they may have been the reason he set off in the first place."

"I am not surprised that he should want to try and find your enemy, my lord, for he would do anything to aid you, though I cannot help but wish he had been less hasty, or at least invited some company."

"No, he would not want any of you to go, for he cannot know what lies ahead. He would spare all of us the danger; that is his way." Aragorn shook his head. "Neither have I known him to act in haste, yet his heart must have been restless, due in no small part to my own failing." His pain and self-reproach was plain for all to see, even if no one but Hamille understood exactly to what he referred.

"Alas that I did not get here sooner, but I could not, and the news that I bring now, we only learnt last night," he continued to lament in distress. "But for the storm, I would have come straight away, and little did I suspect that he had these plans. _Ai_, Legolas!"

Most of the Ithilien elves were gathered there by now, listening to the exchange. Aragorn's guards also stood close by, listening but understanding nothing.

"_Saes_,_ heru nin_," Hamille pressed him. "Please, my lord, tell us what this news is."

Aragorn first needed to know how much they already knew. "This man you captured," Aragorn asked the elves. "Did he tell you of his master's intentions and plans?"

They all looked at the elf who had questioned the prisoner.

"Nay," he responded. "He said he did not know as much as the one we sent to the White City, for that one was one of their leaders."

Aragorn nodded. "Indeed, we learnt more from the one in our dungeons, and I have no reason to believe he is not telling the truth, but my heart is heavy in telling you what we now know." Under his breath, he breathed a message to one who was absent: "Had I the wings of an eagle, my friend, I would be bearing you back here on the swiftest wind this moment."

The elves waited for him to speak again. Hamille pressed him, "Tell us, my lord."

There was no easy way, so Aragorn stated it plainly: "They did not come here for my son, Eldarion."

The elves gasped. "What do you mean, my lord? I heard them myself," Lishian spoke up for the first time. "They asked for the king's son, and that is what they shouted to each other."

Aragorn cleared his throat. "Yes, you heard truly. They were after the king's son," he said slowly, "but it was not Eldarion they sought…"

Hamille's eyes, and the eyes of several others, widened as a thought began to take form.

"_Saes, _speak plainly, please, King Elessar," he pleaded in a shaky voice, not wanting but needing to hear it confirmed.

"They – they were after the son of a different king, Hamille."

A cold, uneasy feeling crept into the elves' hearts. _A different king_.

Their minds replayed the events that had shattered the peace of Ithilien three days ago, and as suddenly as realization had dawned upon the prisoner in the White City the night before, they all knew now how different eyes had looked upon the same truth and seen different meanings.

"It was the King of Mirkwood they were talking about," Aragorn drove the thought home for them. "Your king, Thranduil. The son they sought to capture was your prince – Legolas."

* * *

_Yes, Chapter 14 was where I finally wanted to let some light in; that is why I had to write every word in every dialogue and event description in earlier chapters very, very carefully. _

_Kudos to those who saw it coming in Chap 14, but **nclowe**, you deserve the excited bounces for you were the first. _: )

_In the coming chapter, Aragorn reveals all. The chapter is ready, but I still want to be sure of its coherence with subsequent chapters before I post it. I promise to **try** and keep the wait under a week. I know that to many, I am posting very frequently, but I understand the torture of waiting, and I too wish to see this completed while I am still impassioned. No complaints, I suppose? _


	16. Revelation

**_Note_**:

For those who were wondering what the 'stick' thing was all about:

In an earlier review (for Chap 10), _**Outofthebox** _threatened me with a stick to update quickly -- I yielded. : ) As I said, I made the ten-stick remark lightly, but I realize now how gratifying reviews are – so thank you all for stick-ing me and sticking with me.

My appreciation to all previously named readers/reviewers, and **_Red Squirrel_** _(hope your cold is better), **kuramasneko, jobuggy, kurafoxgirl, Blaise**_ and _**Alis world**. (**Black Squirrel**_: yes, I will take care where I leave you hanging... right where it counts, lol.)

* * *

CHAPTER 16: REVELATION

For a few seconds after his announcement and the initial gasps of shock from the elves, Aragorn felt as if every living thing in the clearing had come to a standstill to take in the news about the Lord of Ithilien. All the elves' faces went as ashen as his was. The sky was a washed blue, the greens were new and fresh, but all the colors that had seemed so vibrant an hour ago seemed shadowed now. Then every elf in the gathering, except Hamille, who stood stock still, started talking.

Lishian protested. "But… my lord, they went to the _talan_ looking for the king's son!"

Aragorn narrowed his eyes and thought for a moment. "I was not there that evening, my friend, and I know no more than what Lady Arwen told me. But… was Legolas not also in the _talan_ when they went up?"

Now they all waited for Lishian to answer, for he and Galean were the only ones in the tree house at the time, besides Legolas, Arwen and Eldarion. He closed his eyes and focused silently on the memory of all that had gone on, and when he remembered, he opened them and sighed sadly, wishing he were wrong.

"Aye, he was. And… it is true," he said, looking around at his friends. "The attackers did not invade the _talan_ till our prince had returned to it. He was fighting them on the ground at first, and he wanted us to be quiet, for he did not wish to draw their attention to the presence of the queen and the prince… the other, young prince."

Aragorn closed his eyes now, speaking silently to his absent friend. _Mellon nin_,_ you protected them, and I hurt you._

Lishian went on. "But soon after, he came up himself, to see to their safety. It was then that the intruders climbed the tree, and Galean…" Lishian faltered, thinking of his slain friend. Hamille placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him strength, and he continued in a softer voice. "Galean and I started shooting them then, as they tried to come in over the wall. I was shot after that and I do not remember very much, but… I think the prince took my arrows and shot someone at the door, and then Galean fell… and there were others coming over the wall. I… someone said to take him alive… the king's son. I… I do not remember more."

"We did not think he was after our prince, for it was Eldarion that Legolas sought to hide first," Lanwil said. "Never did he think they were after _him_, and thus neither did we."

"That is Legolas," Aragorn said fondly, almost to himself. "Last is he in his own heart."

"But why does Sarambaq want him?" Hamille demanded, his eyes growing hard. "Who is this villain?"

Now that he knew where Legolas had gone, Aragorn was more than anxious to follow his trail, but he knew that the elves needed to be told all that the man of Adhûn had revealed to him.

"Sarambaq was a servant of the Necromancer… we know him better as Sauron." Aragorn stated, looking at the elves to see if they were able to relate the two he had named, but they did not and waited expectantly for him to say more.

"You all know that before the Quest of the Ring, Mirkwood had long been at war with the Necromancer in the dark forests of Dol Guldur," he said, and then the elves nodded. "Legolas had been on those patrols as well?"

"Aye," Hamille replied. "He led many of them."

Aragorn nodded and said softly, "That is how Ködil knew him then." He saw the uncomprehending looks on the faces of the elves and continued. "During and after the Quest, your king and Celeborn of Lothlorien attacked the evil in Dol Guldur, did they not? They drove them out of the forest and renamed it Eryn Lasgalen?"

"Aye, many of us were part of those efforts, and indeed in the final assault as well," Lanwil responded. "But this Sarambaq…?"

"Some of those who brought darkness to Dol Guldur came from the area between Gondor and the Sea of Rhûn," Aragorn explained. "They were men whom Sauron enslaved and tortured as he did the orcs. Many of them had families and kin. Among them was Sarambaq, who commanded one of the armies."

The names of the people the elves fought were unknown to them, but a glimpse of understanding began to light their faces even as they waited for Aragorn to tell them more.

"In the final assault upon Dol Guldur, Thranduil killed one of the younger men." Aragorn paused. "He was Sarambaq's son. Sarambaq himself escaped, but he has not forgotten the death of his son, nor has he forgotten the elf king who ended his life, for he witnessed it himself and was unable to stop it. So he fled and swore vengeance."

The silence in the clearing was unnerving. Even the birds seemed to have stopped singing as they listened intently to the tale.

"His vengeance would be taken by capturing Legolas, for in that way would he torture his father, Thranduil. That is why he sought to take your prince alive. My guess is that he desired to make certain your king would know of his son's imprisonment at his hands and to gloat over the pain that would cause."

Fury grew in the faces of the elves, but they were still silent, so Aragorn spoke again.

"Thranduil would have gone after him with the forces of Mirkwood, and Gondor would have joined him without hesitation. But…" Aragorn paused as he considered his next words. "I think the greater likelihood is that Sarambaq would have wanted to hold Legolas ransom, as a lure for Thranduil, and only Thranduil, to come and claim him. Alone."

_Alone_. The word sent a shiver of fear up elven spines.

"Then Sarambaq would have killed our king – as well our prince," Hamille finished, his voice as hard as steel. Disbelief and horror filled the faces of the elves.

Aragorn nodded. "That is what I believe. We should all be glad his plans were thwarted, thanks to your valor."

In the clearing under the mid-day sun, the elves of Ithilien surrounded the King of Gondor and digested with growing apprehension the information he had brought. The thought of pursuing their prince was now uppermost in their minds, but the others waited for Hamille to speak.

Before he could, Lanwil gave a sudden gasp and clutched his arm, saying urgently, "The king! He has to be warned!"

"I have taken care of that, my friend," said Aragorn. "Even as we speak, riders are already on the way to your king's home with a message about the threat. They would have left not long after I did."

Hamille nodded in silent gratitude, and Aragorn spoke again.

"I do not think that Sarambaq would dare to attack the Greenwood – he would not get past Thranduil's watchful guard and would not dare confront his forces. Even your small elf colony in Ithilien must have been daunting to him. The prisoner told us that he bided his time, and favor was on his side when so many of your elves removed to South Ithilien. He told his people to wait till Legolas came back, and with only a handful of guards around your prince, they deemed it ripe to strike. Fortunately, they underestimated the strength and resistance of elves."

"Then… Lady Arwen and the young prince… they were just there by chance," Hamille reflected.

Aragorn sighed. "Aye, Hamille, just by chance. But all this while, we thought Eldarion was the one being sought."

Hamille hung his head and spoke in sorrow. "My prince would be grieved to know that the child suffered as a consequence, and needless was the suffering, as was the anguish caused to everyone."

"I thank the Valar no greater harm came to my son, but no blame should be laid on any of us, Hamille," Aragorn said graciously and firmly, laying a hand on the elf's arm. "It is Sarambaq who caused the pain we have all borne, and Legolas not the least. Had we but known the truth earlier! As things stood, it was my life for which my Steward feared, not Legolas'." Aragorn sighed wistfully as he added, "If the prisoner had spoken earlier, and we had known where the real danger lay, I would have come at once. I did not think Legolas would have decided to go off on his own, or that he would have known where to go…"

"You did not know of our prisoner, King Elessar," Hamille said graciously in return, and Lanwil nodded in agreement. "You could not have foreseen our prince's actions, when even we who were with him did not. No fault do we lay on _you_ in this matter."

"Wherever the blame lies, Hamille, what remains to be done immediately is to go after him. He must not be taken." Aragorn proceeded to tell them about Sarambaq's flying beast Dárkil and the meeting place located a three-day trek from Ithilien. When he had finished, the elves were both furious and highly worried for their prince. An urge to depart instantly filled their veins.

"We know Sarambaq wanted to take Legolas alive. I believe he may already have found out that the men he sent failed to do so, if he has gone to the meeting place with his flying beast," Aragorn said. "He may or may not already be planning something else, but in all likelihood, he would not have given up his desire. I fear for Legolas, even more so that he has gone off alone, without any knowledge of this matter. I have to go after him and bring him back."

"_We_ will go after him," Hamille objected. "He is our prince, and it is our duty."

"I have no doubt that is your fervent wish," Aragorn said gently. "But I do not know if that is the wisest choice at this point – "

"Not the wisest choice?" Lishian demanded, startled by Aragorns' words. "Pray tell, what choice do we have, now that we know our prince is out there alone, without help?"

Aragorn's mind worked furiously as he weighed the alternatives, but when he answered, his voice was patient and steady.

"Without the gift of foresight, I cannot know if any choice we make will prove well or ill, yet choose we must. When we have had enough time to convene and consider an offensive on Sarambaq's stronghold, then indeed would strength in arms be needed. We would need to gather the forces of the Greenwood and Gondor, and indeed we may still march on him. But that course of action would brook delay, and now is not the time for it. Our immediate concern should be to bring Legolas home safely as soon as possible. To do that, we should avoid an encounter with the enemy.

"The choice I would counsel, therefore, is the one that Lord Elrond made when he sent only nine walkers on the Quest of the Ring, instead of the armies of three elven realms. The success of the quest depended on stealth and secrecy, not might in numbers."

He paused briefly to compose his next words.

"Legolas has been gone less than half a day, and it would not take too long to track him if it is done immediately, and thus will he be reached soonest. But it has to be done in stealth and secrecy as the Quest was." Aragorn swallowed before resuming, "If things go ill and he is taken by Sarambaq's men in their own territory … if that happens, then our present numbers will be of little avail.

"I would choose not to do battle, but to follow his trail and bring him back quietly. I believe this is what Legolas needs now. We do not want to draw Sarambaq's attention to him, and that we will surely do if we go in numbers."

Although the elves had been appalled at Aragorn's earlier words, for it had been unthinkable that they would not go after the prince as well, the mention of the much respected elf lord Elrond's name and his counsel, even if he had already sailed to the Undying Lands, made them hesitate and consider the man's argument. Aragorn had, after all, led the quest much of the way, after the fall of Mithrandir.

"We do not doubt your skills as one of the Dừnedain Rangers, my lord, albeit in days past, but perhaps one or two of us can go with you," Lanwil submitted.

The elves waited as the king considered this.

"On my part, I have great faith in the stealth of elves, you know that," he said at last, "but there may be times when it will be necessary to move in the open. I can clothe and disguise myself so that I would appear to be a human traveler seeking new lands. Indeed, if I should be seen or approached, that would be my claim, that I am lost in the wilderness. An elf, however, would find it most difficult to hide his true form and countenance; your looks are… distinctive," he pointed out. "If you should be seen or stopped, I fear that it would be more difficult to convince strangers that you are wandering elves; they will suspect something amiss and guess that you seek someone. Do not forget also that Sarambaq's men have seen you. They would know you are from Ithilien."

What he said seemed sensible so far, but he was not finished.

"Even if Legolas escapes capture, none of you can afford to be taken either. If Sarambaq does not get his prince, he would not hesitate to use you – any of you – as ransom."

"We are prepared to take our prince's place," Lishian said staunchly.

Aragorn held up his hand. "Your loyalty to Legolas is not in question. I, too, would willingly take his place if it would do any good, for I too love him."

The light in his eyes and the set of his jaw as he said this left the elves in no doubt that he meant every word.

"Alas, it is your king Sarambaq wants, not me. He may not hold you as valuable a hostage as Thranduil's son, but if he were to take any of you, Thranduil would still send his forces after you, would he not?" Aragorn swept his eyes over the group as he posed the question.

"But at least he himself would not go. No one would allow him to go, it is unthinkable," Lanwil ventured. "The king would be safe."

"You speak truly, yet it is not him you need to worry about should the situation arise," Aragorn countered. "If the elves were to go after you, who do you think would lead them? Who would insist on leading them there, even if he himself had returned safely?"

"Prince Legolas," Hamille conceded softly.

Aragorn nodded agreement. "You have served him long and faithfully. Even if he has eluded capture, I do not doubt for one moment that he would ride back there and risk being taken again rather than abandon any of you to captivity under Sarambaq. But you know what would happen if that should come to pass."

The elves looked at one another and pondered this counsel from Aragorn. He understood the hesitation they were experiencing, but he needed to remind them of the urgency of the situation.

"This matter concerns all of us, my friends, and I can see no further than you as to the wisdom of my choice, if I were to make it. You are free to deliberate it, and I will follow the decision you make. But we must tarry no longer than necessary. Legolas has not been gone overly long, and the sooner I – or we – depart, the greater the chances of finding him before he ventures too far."

The very trees in the clearing seemed to await the elves' decision as they pondered Aragorn's arguments. Their hearts were torn in two, but understanding the urgency of the matter, Hamille spoke before long.

"As you say, King Elessar, none of us can foresee whether one decision would be better than another. "But we have to resolve this quickly. Our prince gave me the task of looking after Ithilien in his absence, so I shall bear the weight of this choice. Rightly or wrongly, my lord, we will follow your counsel. We trust that you will do everything in your power to bring him back safely."

Aragorn nodded, accepting their decision. His anxiety for their prince was plain, and the elves knew he would not rest till he was face to face again with his friend.

"Yet we cannot sit by and do nothing," Hamille finished, a note of helplessness creeping into his voice.

"Not nothing, Hamille," Aragorn said. "My riders have already gone to the Greenwood, but they will first travel the route west through Rohan, for they know of no other. The route across the Reclaimed Lands and the Wilderland to the north, however, is shorter, as you well know, and I imagine that one of you will now wish to take it, to reach Thrandruil even sooner…"

"Of course, we can leave straight away," Hamille agreed readily and turned to issue an instruction.

But Aragorn held his arm, speaking hesitantly as another thought entered his mind. "I do not know if it such aid will be needed in the end, but… I would be much relieved if I knew that I could expect it."

Aragorn told Hamille what he needed done, and Hamille nodded.

"It is highly likely that Thranduil himself will come. If we are not back in four or five days, the time may be ripe for you to come after us, with whatever forces you can muster, and I hope with the aid I seek. The prisoner in the City will show the way." Aragorn paused before saying carefully: "If that should be necessary, it is up to you to stay your king if you deem it wise to do so, yet it will not be easy, for a father's anxiety is a powerful emotion… one that can lead to neglect of caution, both in word and deed, as I can testify." As he said this, he and Hamille exchanged a look of mutual understanding, again lost to the other elves.

"We shall leave that in the past," Hamille said comfortingly. "But as for my king, I do not know if I could hold him any more than I could stop the charge of a herd of raged oliphaunts," he sighed resignedly, looking a little abashed as he realized the comparison he had used without thinking.

Aragorn could not hide a grin at those words. "And that may be well, for if we are still not back by then, we will welcome aid, for we may be in deep waters. But let us not dwell on morose possibilities. I need to prepare."

"Your Steward and family does not yet know of your decision to depart immediately from here, but I assume that is what you wish to do…?"

"Most certainly, as soon as I am ready. My escort will return to inform them," Aragorn affirmed. "You will need to see to your own defenses as well, for who can tell if there will be another attempt. I will not presume to advise you on that matter, as you know best how to strengthen them. But you are also most welcome to seek refuge or aid from the White City should you need to." Hamille nodded his agreement.

Half an hour after they had finished talking, the men of Gondor had taken some light refreshment and were remounted on their horses. Aragorn had changed into informal clothes, not the kind he would have worn as a Ranger, but far more suited for travel than the velvet tunic he had come in. He silently blessed his wife for having packed a set for him. A plainer but warm cloak from the elves replaced his own. The wind would tousle his hair soon enough, and the elves helped to smear dirt on his cloak and boots so that he would look more travel-worn.

They gave him packets of _lembas, _the waybread of elves, and filled his water skin. Healing herbs and equipment, too, were quietly given and received, although everyone hoped they would not be needed.

As they were walking to the horses, on a sudden impulse, Aragorn turned to Hamille and said: "Give me something of Legolas'."

Hamille stopped in mid-stride and stared at the man. "What?"

The man looked a little sheepish. He could not explain his strange request, but his heart was moved to make it. "Something he has worn recently, a shirt or a cloak. Please – fetch it for me."

Hamille looked at him a moment longer, before asking another equally puzzled elf to bring from the prince's _talan _a cloak he had seen the prince wear sometimesWhen it was handed to him, Aragorn received it gratefully and silently. It was then rolled up with his blanket and tied to the saddle.

Much to their chagrin, Aragorn's two guards were commanded to return to Minas Tirith with information and instructions for Faramir, and a message for the queen. They were highly unwilling to leave their king, but he had given the order, and they could not disobey. Faramir would not be pleased either, but that could not be helped.

The elves gathered around Aragorn when he was finally ready to set off. There was no need for many words, for they all knew what each felt. As he placed his hand on his breast in farewell, Aragorn's eyes filled with resolve, and he said to Hamille:

"I will go to whatever end to bring him back, my friend. Only death can stop me."

"May the Valar watch over you both," came the heartfelt reply.

With that, the royal escort rode back to the White City. And the King of Gondor, who was once again a Dừnedain Ranger, rode north and east on the heels of Legolas Greenleaf, elf of Greenwood and Ithilien, and his most cherished friend.


	17. Voices in the Dark

_Note_: Thank you for the continued encouragement of all previously named readers / reviewers, **_Elf771 _**(far be it from me to think of this writing as anywhere near Tolkien's, but thank you) and **_Shaan Lien _(**whose own stories are inspirational).

I don't know how to rate this, but please note that there is **some description of blood and death at the beginning of this chapter**, just in case there are children reading.

* * *

CHAPTER 17: VOICES IN THE DARK

_Sounds of battle, of yells and commands, of whistling arrows and clashing swords rent the foul air of Dol Guldur. Golden-haired and dark-haired elves with bright eyes and gleaming scythes and swords, a strange light illuminating their countenance and enveloping their every movement, assailed Sauron's forces with the fury of a lightning storm that dispelled the shadows of the dark forest stronghold. _

_Sarambaq watched his troops fall around him, their cries of pain and fear and death resounding in his ears. He was their leader, but he was powerless to keep his forces together._

_Even as he desperately fended off the swords of two elves, he saw his son some distance away. His young face was a mask of blazing anger as he engaged in a sword fight with the elf king of Mirkwood. Their swords clashed as they parried and thrust. A surge of protectiveness welled up in him, and he tried to make his way over to where they were, but the elves around him thwarted his attempts to move from his position. In between warding off blows to his own body, his stolen glances told him his son was holding himself well. His youthful body dodging a swing of the elven sword, he swung his own sword fiercely at the mid-section of the king. _

_Youth, however, offers no surety of life, no certain protection against mortality, and the next scene played out in front of Sarambaq's eyes was one that would haunt him incessantly all the years of his life to come._

_The litheness of elves, even in one as venerable as Thranduil, saved the king when he stepped back just in time from what would have been a lethal slash. But the momentum of the young man's movement as he crouched to evade the earlier swipe of the elven sword, threw him off-balance. The golden-haired king did not waste the chance. He swiftly drew his arm back and with a powerful stab, thrust his sword into the chest of his opponent who would have just as readily ripped open his own moments ago. _

_Like watching a series of images unveiled slowly behind a curtain of moving water, the father watched as his son stayed motionless at the end of the sword, then slowly crumbled to the ground even as the elven sword was withdrawn and his blood spurted forth. The elf king's head lowered for a brief instant before he turned and raced away to continue the battle for the woods of Dol Guldur. _

_A silent wail of depthless agony and grief rose and caught in Sarambaq's throat and stayed there; only the swish of an elven blade drawing blood from his arm brought him back to his own predicament. With the savaged fury of a bereaved father, he slashed out with greater ferocity than he thought possible and slew two astonished elves with one long sweeping arc of his sword. Before the elves could even sink to the ground, he ran like a madman to where his son lay, dropped to his knees and cradled the lifeless body to his chest, his eyes wild with shocked disbelief and his throat releasing the crazed cry at last._

_With malevolence in his heart rivaling that of his master the Necromancer, he rose and sought his son's slayer. But the figure of the elf king was nowhere to be seen among the numerous elf fighters, no matter where he turned. And wherever he turned, there was only the death and destruction of the army he had built, the stronghold he had fortified and held for years. His dark master, vanquished, could aid him no longer. There was no hope, and for a moment, his thought was to surrender to death. _

_But service to the Necromancer had hardened his soul, so that it knew not remorse nor right and wrong. He cast a look at his lifeless son again, and from somewhere deep within him, the sheer will of a father bent on revenge mobilized him. He swiftly cut a lock of hair from his son's head and gripped it tightly. Calling upon all his cunning and stealth, and choking down his grief and bitterness, he crept among the dead and edged away from the battle. Whether by his own cunning or the hand of fate, he evaded notice and reached a spot where the fighting had ceased. He saw Ködil and a handful of others sneaking away in the same direction, fleeing for their lives, relinquishing the Shadows to the Light of the Firstborn. Behind the safety of a large tree, he stood and cast one last look upon the crippled remnants of his life in Dol Guldur before disappearing into the denseness of the forest, heading south and east to his refuge for the next ten years. _

_

* * *

_

The first day of their journey passed uneventfully, to Legolas' relief. Guided by the directions and descriptions Brûyn supplied along the way, they rode slowly through woods that grew thicker the further they ventured from his home in Ithilien. They kept on the paths close to the foot of the mountain range that Brûyn and his companions had used to get to and from the borders of the elf settlement.

As the day wore on, Legolas no longer felt the pleasant aura that had radiated from the elven realm where he and his kin dwelt in Ithilien. Tall trees were now part of a forest where bushes and undergrowth carpeted the floor, the fabric of leaves high above jealously guarding the muted dark below, leaving little space for needles of sunshine to penetrate its weave.

With a start, Legolas realized that the shadows in the forest reminded him of the woods on the fringes of Dol Guldur, as the dark shadow that seemed to cloak Brûyn did last night, and he shivered despite himself. Not with a little hatred did he recall the evil of that place on the borders of his home, evil that he and his kin had fought off for so long till his father and Lord Celeborn had overcome it, aided by the power of the Lady of Light, bearer of the Elven ring Nenya.

Those memories came to him now, uninvited and unwelcome, provoking him to ask himself again if he had made the right decision to undertake this scouting mission. But each time a note of uncertainty entered his mind, the thought of being able to present Aragorn with more information about his enemy's stronghold strengthened his resolve and banished his doubts.

Brûyn found his journey with the elf a lonely and rather tiresome one, for the elf, understandably, spoke not at all with him, other than to ask him questions from time to time, but they were all about the number of men serving Sarambaq, the lie of the land and what they could expect. He noticed that the elf quietly observed their surroundings; he was obviously familiarizing himself with the route. Worried thoughts assailed the man more than once.

He plans to return with more men. Blast him. 

The elf did not trust Brûyn as far as he could throw him, but he did not think the man would dare to lead him astray after the repeated threat to introduce him to his knives at the first sign of anything amiss. The Adhûnian seemed intimidated by the intensity of a concentrated elven gaze, and Legolas used that to his advantage.

"You have seen the skill of elves, Adhûnian. If you attempt to cross me, I will not go down easily. If any of your companions crosses our path, you will be the first to taste my blade," he warned, "and should they desire to end my life, be assured that I will end yours first."

Brûyn swallowed nervously. "I do not wish to be seen either; my master will be furious at me for leading you there," he responded with partial truth.

_Yes, I do not want to be there when you bring back your people as you surely will. If he sees me, he will not stop till he slits my throat with his own hands._

_But, if fortune still smiles on me… _

Legolas would have turned back immediately if he had known Brûyn's true intentions.

Thin lips sneered when the man greedily imagined the reward he would get for bringing the prince to Sarambaq. Last night, as this golden-haired elf questioned him about the route to Adhûn, he had recognized him as the prince they had been sent to take alive, the one Ködil had pointed out. He did not know why Sarambaq wanted him; it was enough to know he did, and that by some strange stroke of fortune, the quarry himself had asked to be brought into the jaws of his hunter.

_But why was this prince being so bold? _he wondered. He decided to risk a question.

"Are you not afraid to meet my master?"

The elf was taken aback at the sudden query, but gave a small derisive snort. "Why should I be afraid to meet someone who was too cowardly to come and perform his own dirty deed?"

And that was the end of the conversation.

Brûyn did not care much why the elf was being so foolhardy. His only concern was to lead the elf to the Table where he hoped his companions, or better yet, the Master himself would be there. If no one was there, he would have to lead the elf to Adhûn itself, but the longer journey posed a risk: the elf might not wish to complete the whole journey and end up escaping their clutches.

Sarambaq, you'd better be at the Table, he growled to himself. 

Legolas' elven senses nagged at him that something was not quite what it seemed, but he attributed it to what surrounded him: the forest that reminded him of Dol Guldur, and his inevitable proximity to a servant of the man who had tried to abduct an innocent child.

So he had gone on determinedly, keeping his eyes and ears alert to every sight and sound they encountered. But the hours passed without trouble, and Legolas felt that they had made good progress, stopping briefly only twice to let the captive eat – under the elf's watchful guard – some fruit and _lembas_ he had brought along. No matter how disgusting the man was, the kind elf would not let him bear hunger beyond his ability, having learnt about mortal needs from his long association with Aragorn, the hobbits, his dwarf friend Gimli and other human acquaintances. Nevertheless, the elf took care not to make any show of mercy obvious. The man, in contrast, growled about the lack of "proper food" and rest, not caring that his grouses fell on deaf ears. Legolas himself munched on a small portion of the waybread, which was all he needed for sustenance.

In the late afternoon, they rounded the northernmost point of the Mountains of Shadow. Through a break in the woods, Legolas' elven sight could see the Reclaimed Lands to the north-west. By the time the sun had set, they had covered many more miles east. Brûyn told Legolas that they would have to leave the forest soon and ride across a flat plain slightly north and east. _The old battle plain of Dagorlad, _Legolas thought with fleeting satisfaction;he and Faramir had guessed correctly, and Arwen had pointed them in the right direction.

As night fell, the Adûnian thought Legolas would finally call a halt to the journey, for sitting sideways on a horse and trying to avoid the eyes of your captor, he found, was very tiring. But halting was by no means the elf's intentions. Their arrival at the edge of the plain pleased Legolas because the cover of night would allow them to ride in the open at a quick pace with much less danger of mortal eyes seeing them. As soon as the elf saw that the faint moon would cast just enough light for him and his elvish horse to see the features of the land ahead of them, he swiftly guided Aérodel out of the trees and onto the even, grassy ground. After ascertaining the direction in which they were to proceed, Legolas spoke to his elvish steed and trusted it to pick a safe path where it would not stumble. Although the horse did not run as swiftly as it would have in the light of day, it still managed to leave the forest from which they had emerged just a blur behind them before long.

* * *

Sitting outside one of the caves hewn out of the Table by forces of Nature, Sarambaq sat sullenly watching his people moving their supplies and equipment out of the dark storage spaces. The trees around the Table provided an effective screen against the curious eyes of intruders. 

He was in a foul mood, having spent a restless night fuming over the failed attempt to abduct the son of Thranduil. Worse still, they had taken two of his useless people captive. In the deepest part of the night, he had thrashed about in his sleep, overwhelmed by a feeling that he had not succumbed to in all his grown years: panic.

What if they talk? What if Thranduil's armies come after me? Where would I flee? 

He had schemed and planned for so long with a coldness born of hatred and bitterness, that he felt little else.

Then his son's face had appeared, bloodied and pale, haunting him, calling for his father.

_Help me…help me…keep his sword from me… help me._

He had been powerless to render that help. Sorrow and anger had poured over him, and he had awoken in the cold dark cave beneath the Table, sweating. With the image of his son's face, the wave of panic had passed, replaced by the familiar emotions that had fueled his every act for ten years.

Now, in the evening sun, he took out the small leather pouch he always wore around his neck, unfastened it and fingered the contents: a lock of hair from his dead son's head. Bitterness marred his already hard features.

No, he would not give up so easily, but he needed time to think of another plan; he would live for nothing else.

It would never be as timely as this last one. Thranduil's other sons had sailed to the West long years past; only the youngest remained – Sarambaq's last hope of inflicting the same pain upon the elf king who had robbed him of his son. The prince's move to Ithilien, away from the protection of his father's formidable forces, had been a stroke of fortune in Sarambaq's favor. The time had been so right – how could his useless men have failed?

Sarambaq gritted his teeth. Just as there had been no point in lamenting his losses ten years ago, he hardened his resolve to put the failure behind him and devise another plan. No ideas had come to him yet, but in the meantime, he would move everyone and everything back to his halls in Adhûn where he would be more secure.

He cast a look upward in the direction of the flat top where he knew his flying steed was tearing some carrion to bits for his late afternoon meal. Should the elf army seek him out, he would put up a fight, and if he failed, Dârkil would provide his last means of escape.

Where he would go next, he could not think, he did not want to think. He lived only for retribution. Beyond that, there was nothing.

For the present, he would just focus on moving his people away from the Table. He looked at the work going on and at the darkening sky.

_We will be ready to leave tomorrow afternoon_, he decided as he watched the sun set.

* * *

As night fell, a former Ranger of the North – and to all intents and purposes, a Ranger at this moment – was setting up camp in the midst of the forest the elf had traversed.

Since leaving Ithilien earlier in the day, he had used all the hours of daylight and called upon all his skills to follow the tracks of the elvish horse and its rider, thankful that no rain had washed away any tell-tale signs, for it was hard enough to track the light footsteps of an elf. But the heavier footprints of the horse and the Adhûnian, as well as the broken twigs, dislodged stones and other signs only Rangers could make sense of, were easy enough to follow. There were numerous other prints as well – heavier and older ones – that Aragorn guessed must have been left by Sarambaq's men earlier. There were none fresher than the prints of Legolas' horse, and there were no signs of any struggle, so at least his friend did not seem to have encountered unfriendly resistance, the Ranger thought with relief.

He guessed that his friend must have gone first north, then east, but he could not afford to miss any signs that might suggest a different route. At sunset, Aragorn came across – and almost missed – the only sign that Legolas had ever been along the route, something only a Ranger or an elf would have noticed: a tiny fragment of the _mallorn_ leaf the elf had used to wrap his _lembas _in, and a few fine crumbs nearby. Of the rest of the leaf there was no trace; Legolas had discarded it carefully.

_Lunch_, Aragorn thought, an amused smile lighting his face.

He placed an ear to the ground, keeping very still. Nothing of the one he was following could he perceive. It was getting darker under the boughs, so Aragorn lit a torch and continued to follow the signs till he grew too tired. Knowing he could not afford to miss any clues in the dark, he decided to rest for the night and set off again as soon as there was enough light filtering through the foliage the next day. After lighting a small fire and consuming a quick meal of lembas and water, he eased himself on to a blanket laid out between two large roots and closed his eyes.

He breathed a silent goodnight to his two loved ones he had left behind in the White City. Then, as it had throughout the day, his mind turned once more to Legolas.

_Do not go too swiftly, my friend_. _Let me find you_, he thought just before he fell asleep.

* * *

Brûyn sat tensely in front of the elf prince, bewildered at how in Middle Earth the rider and horse could ride so confidently at this speed in the dark when he could not discern anything more than eight feet in front of him. He wondered when his body would feel the jarring impact of the ground and his flesh separate from his bones if he were to fall, for his hands and feet were bound, and he had nothing to hold on to while the horse sped across the plain.

Yet he did not fall, he did not even pitch dangerously in any direction, but remained awake and upright all through the ride, too numb with fear to realize how much his flesh owed its continued union with his spirit to the skills of the elvish horse and rider. His teeth chattered a little both from the wind of the horse's speed and from terror, but he was too nervous to even ask for a cloak or blanket.

Late into the night, more trees came within sight of the elf's incredible vision, and he asked the man whether they should be entering another forest. Brûyn, when his mouth could steady itself enough to speak, gave an affirmative answer, although he could not see the trees Legolas referred to until the horse slowed down and stopped at the edge of the forest.

"I cannot see well enough to know where we should go," Brûyn responded when Legolas asked for directions.

The elf had to concede that it was difficult for the human to identify landmarks at this hour, so he decided that it would be a good time to rest. He stilled the horse, lowered his head slightly, and closed his eyes, focusing. The elf held this position for many moments, till Brûyn began to wonder if he had fallen asleep. Just as he was about to take the risk of interrupting the trance-like state, the elf lifted his head and spoke to the horse. The elven ears had been listening for the sound of nearby water that would indicate a site where the horse could drink and graze on the grass as well. They also needed to fill their water skins.

As they entered the darkness of the forest, Brûyn again marveled at how the elf could see where to guide his horse when he himself could not see the end of his own nose, let along past it. The faint sound of trickling water, perhaps from a brook, came to him. Not far in from the first line of trees, the horse stopped and they dismounted, still in the dark. Brûyn heard the elf remove some things from the saddle and speak softly to the horse, after which the creature moved off. The man was suddenly and intensely fearful that he would be left alone, for he could see nothing. But then he heard Legolas' voice.

"Stay, do not move from here. I will be back."

The man swallowed and wondered how he could have moved even if he wanted to, for he was bound, and he felt stifled and incapacitated by the deep darkness of an unfamiliar place. He did not hear when the elf walked away from him, for the fair being's steps were almost noiseless, but now he thought he saw – or were his eyes deceiving him? – he thought he saw the outline of the elf walking away from him, and it was glowing faintly. He stared.

_What kind of being is he?_ He asked silently. _Do elves glow? Did I notice this in Ithilien? _

The elf had abilities and qualities the human had never seen or experienced before, nor ever imagined. But however much he felt intimidated by the elf, he would still feel much better if the latter would not leave him alone, and he had to stop himself from whimpering and begging him not to leave. All he heard after that were the water and the night sounds of some scurrying forest creatures.

He decided to distract himself from his nervousness by thinking about how close they were to the place he wanted to reach. Unknown to the elf, they had only this forest to go through, a gully to ride around and another flat area to cross, and they would be at the Table. For the first time since they left, the Adhûnian was glad they were riding. The elf would not stop for long, he knew, and at the pace they were going, he guessed they would reach the forest surrounding the Table before the next mid-day sun was high above their heads.

After what seemed like ages to the nervous man, who was still rooted to the spot, he saw a light approaching him. The faintly glowing outline of the elf again appeared, and he was holding a small burning stick in one hand. Legolas beckoned to him and said, "Follow me."

The elf turned and walked slowly deeper into the trees. Brûyn, his ankles tied to each other with a length of cord so that he could still walk, stumbled along behind him, making his way by the glow of the torch and the elf's body. But soon, he saw another, brighter glow in the distance. As they drew closer to it, the man saw that it was the brilliance of a fire at the mouth of what looked like a cave. The elf's pack sat against a wall, and a blanket and cloak had already been laid out further in the cave.

"We will rest here," Legolas said, and indicated the blanket where the man could sleep. The elf made no move to untie the man's hands and feet, so the latter resigned himself to sleeping in restraints. He gave a disgruntled snort as he thought fleetingly about how unnecessary the cords were, for he had no plans to run anywhere in this dark forest, nor was he able to keep his eyelids open any longer. As soon as he lay himself on the blanket and pulled the cloak over himself, he fell into the oblivion of sleep.

Legolas, standing at the mouth of the cave, looked at him till he was assured that the man had fallen asleep. He was not particularly worried; he did not think anyone would have followed them or even known they were here.

But the elf suddenly felt very alone.

He was in a strange place, heading for a stranger destination. He was far from home and far from friends.

These woods were unfamiliar to him and he was not sure if he was welcome here, even though he was a Wood elf. He looked at a gnarled old tree nearby and walked over to it. Respectfully, he stood before it, sharing its space, letting it sense his presence. Then he approached it and gently ran his hands over the rough surface, trying to feel its aura. After some moments, he felt its hum, and he pressed his hands against the trunk. Missing was the close communion he felt with the trees of the Greenwood and Ithilien, but despite the shadow that seemed to shroud the forest, the trees themselves did not harbor resentment for the elf. They simply felt… wild. Aloof. But Legolas understood. He was the newcomer, the intruder, and it would take time for the forest to open its thoughts to him. It was enough that they accepted his presence for the night. It knew that he too was one with the earth and meant no harm.

Reassured, Legolas climbed onto one of the lower branches where he still had a good view of the cave and the small fire. Placing his weapons carefully where they would be in his hands in an instant should he need them, he leaned against the tree trunk. He turned his bright eyes to the sky hidden by the thick canopy above, not seeing the starry expanse beyond the leafy opacity, but reaching it and touching it as only an elven heart can. He offered a silent song to the Queen of Stars as he waited.

Dawn was still far off when his horse returned from grazing and drinking his fill from the brook. He called softly to it, promising to brush it down in the morning. Only then did the elf relax and turn his thoughts to sleep.

"May the new day bring us what we seek, Estel," he whispered and allowed himself to drift out of wakefulness, completely unaware just how aptly his wish had been expressed.

* * *

_May the new day bring us what we seek, Estel._The Ranger awoke with a start, his slow, steady heartbeat just a little more rapid than usual. His hand had instinctively closed around the dagger at his side. 

"Legolas?" he called out softly, eyes still sticky with sleep peering into the dark around him.

Nothing. No one was there. There was only the steady chirp of crickets, the soft harrumph of his horse, and the almost imperceptible sounds of sleepless creatures foraging for food. Beyond all that, there was only the stillness of the night.

He leaned back and sighed. It was as if he had heard the voice of his soft-spoken friend, a fair voice he missed and was desperate to find. In a few hours, it would be time to get up and resume his search.

"Wait for me, Legolas," he whispered.

* * *

In the arms of a tree, a Wood elf who had just begun to enter a dream world snapped his blue eyes open again as he heard – or thought he heard – the voice of a beloved friend:

_Wait for me, Legolas._

Puzzled by the significance of the words, he drew a deep breath and exhaled before slipping into a light, watchful sleep.


	18. Bonds Unseen

**_Note_**: Thank you for continuing to walk with me, all regular reviewers / readers, and I welcome **_Snow-glory, Robinscat_** (so you went scouting too, like Legolas, thanks for your persistence), **_Kelsey Estel _**(I like the Ithilien elves too)**_, Kukumalu, Wantanelf_** (nice to have you on board on both ships) and **_Lyn. _**

**_Lyn_**, thanks for voicing your comment regarding the concept of the 'glowing elf'. My response will be posted as a review so that whoever is interested can read it there, and whoever is not can go straight to the chapter here.

**_Soar_**: In response to your query – you'll have to wait and see, my friend. : )

* * *

CHAPTER 18: BONDS UNSEEN

Brûyn felt as if he had hardly closed his eyes before the elf was shaking him awake.

"Time to move on," Legolas said.

The man opened his eyes slowly, his mind still foggy with sleep. He squinted at the muted light of late dawn that had managed to pierce through the roof of the forest and paint a dull orange glow on the walls of the cave, and he knew that he had not slept for very long. Despite the glow, a chill permeated the cave, for the fire had been put out, embers and a thin wisp of smoke being the only evidence that there had been one. He felt sore from sleeping on the hard floor of the cave and stiff because his restraints had not allowed much movement of his limbs throughout his sleep, but he grudgingly acknowledged that even though his limbs were securely tied, the cords were not so tight that they cut off his blood flow; they merely made him uncomfortable.

_Elves are strange beings, they do strange things, but even when they bind their prisoners, they inflict much less pain that Sarambaq would_, he fleetingly thought.

As he stretched as much as he could, a yawn escaped him.

The elf, however, showed no such signs of sleepiness or discomfort. He looked as fresh and alert as he did since they set off, while Brûyn felt like a rag. The elf rolled up the blanket and cloak as soon as Brûyn had stood, and walked to the horse to tie them to the saddle. The animal had been brushed and cleaned and looked as fresh as the elf did, even in the wilds.

Brûyn felt his stomach growl and decided to risk a question: "What about breakfast?"

Legolas pointed to a water skin and white wafer lying on a leaf wrapping that he had already placed on a small rock near the cave wall.

"Not the dry bread again?" the man groaned, but all he received from the elf was a frosty look that told him to either eat it or starve. _The elf does not waste words_, he thought with some irritation. Muttering, he picked up the _lembas _that had been their only form of sustenance since they left. It was not the kind of food he was used to, and neither was it particularly palatable to his human tongue, but he had to admit that it filled him, even though he did not eat much of it.

_Elves and their ways are stranger than a cat with five legs_, he thought.

They were soon mounted again, and the elf led the horse away from the cave. Brûyn could not tell where they were exactly, for they had entered the forest in the dark. But when he looked at the sun, he saw that they seemed to be heading away from it, the way they had come. He guessed at the elf's intentions but needed confirmation.

"Are we going back the way we came?"

"Yes," came the calm reply, although the elf seemed worried about something. "Back to the edge of the forest. You could not see where we entered the forest last night. You cannot guide me further unless we return to the edge of it so that you can point out the right trail."

The man nodded. It would indeed be quicker to backtrack than attempt to find the way from where they were. He stole another look at the brooding look on the elf's face, then sat quietly as the elf led the horse out of the forest.

Legolas had another reason for retracing their steps, but he did not reveal it to the Adhûnian.

After they emerged from the trees, Aérodel quickly cantered onto the plain, and Legolas saw how vast and flat the land was that they had traversed the night before. Across the plain, his far-seeing eyes could perceive just a faint glimpse of the dark patch of forest they had left at sunset.

After a short distance, Aérodel turned around to face the forest again. In the early light, Legolas could see that the land here was higher and that they would probably have to cross a rise in the forest on foot. Warmed by the young rays of a morning sun, the forest did not look quite as daunting, but the trees were still huddled closer together than the woods just outside Ithilien. Gnarled branches reached out from trees like greedy fingers. The Wood elf was quite at home in friendly forests, but it was if these forests had been stained by the presence of Sarambaq's men who had traveled through them.

"Where do we go from here?" Legolas asked the man.

Brûyn turned his head several times to the right and left, looking for familiar objects that marked the route he and his companions had traveled several times before.

"Go over there," his tied hands gestured to the left. At Legolas' bidding, Aérodel trotted slowly in the direction the man had indicated. After they had gone about thirty yards, Brûyn called for them to halt.

"There," he said, his hands pointing towards a tree with a huge girth, taller than the rest. Two branches left its trunk about twelve feet up, pointing north and south like two open arms, so that the tree looked much like a sentinel welcoming sojourners into the forest.

"Are you certain?" Legolas asked cautiously.

A sarcastic reply was on the edge of Brûyn's tongue, but he thought better of it and said simply: "Aye."

At a click of the elf's tongue, Aérodel trotted to the tree. Legolas saw the signs of a path that had been trodden on recently, and by many feet, he judged. The man appeared to be telling the truth; there had been no nervousness or hesitation in his voice.

Legolas dismounted, and stood studying the large tree from top to bottom, much to the puzzlement and impatience of the human.

But before long, he was mounted again, and the elf, the Adhûnian and the horse moved into the darker reaches of the forest.

* * *

Aragorn had been on the move since dawn, taking only a cold breakfast of _lembas _and fruit he had found on the way. A wet gray mist blanketed the forest, plastering damp strands of the man's hair against his forehead and cheeks as he tried to ward off the chill by pulling his coat and cloak tighter about himself. He had to lead his horse on foot from time to time so that he could bend closer to the ground to observe the signs he was following. Wet leaves scrunched beneath his feet or that of his horse's hooves as the tracks gradually led them slightly north. He was depending largely on the tracks left by Legolas' horse now, grateful for the enhanced eyesight that allowed him to discern them.

The tracks gradually led him slightly east, and as he went on, the trees became less close, suggesting that he was moving out of the forest. The open plain that Legolas had ridden across the previous night soon greeted him. He vaguely recalled what he had seen on a map Faramir had dug up from the City's archives. It did not have much detail, but it did indicate open space – the old battle plain – between two forests. Aragorn guessed that was where he was now. He must have moved past the southern edge of the Reclaimed Lands while he was still in the thick of the woods.

A quick calculation of the distance he had covered told him that Legolas would have reached this point just after twilight yesterday.

_What would Legolas have done? _Aragorn paused to consider. His long friendship with the elf provided the answer. _He would have traveled under the cover of trees in the day and crossed open space under the cover of night. _

The mist was clearing rapidly, and Aragorn looked across the plain, trying to see how far it went. He did not have the eyes of the elf and could not see the forest on the other side. But if the map was right, and if Legolas had ridden across the plain as he guessed, the elf would have reached the next patch of forest some time after midnight. He could not have gone on then, for his guide was no elf and would not have been able to see the route himself.

_So you camped in the forest for the night, my friend, and somewhere near the edge of it, _Aragorn imagined with some confidence. The elf would not have tarried overlong, he knew._ You too would have risen with the sun. Still, you cannot have ventured too far into the forest yet. _

At that realization, the Ranger's heart quickened with urgency and anticipation. Aérodel's hoof prints were still clear here, and Aragorn lost no time in setting off in the same direction. He soon increased his speed, heading for the sun and keeping an easterly route, his damp hair drying in the wind. He was aware that if he went too fast, he might miss the signs, which was easy to do on a vast grassy plain, but if he went too slowly, he might not reach his friend soon enough. He chose speed, for vegetation was scant and there were hardly any trees to obstruct their run, so that his horse was able to ride at an encouraging pace.

Halfway across, however, the Ranger found that he had lost sight of the hoof impressions and wondered if he had strayed from the trail Legolas' horse had taken. He slowed his own horse and trotted first to the right, then back again to the left, trying to regain the correct course, but – he realized incredulously – he seemed to have lost it.

He cantered to a halt, a hiss of frustration issuing from his lips. Aragorn squinted but could yet see nothing beyond the plain.

Haste has been a foolish choice, he reprimanded himself. Am I still headed in the right direction? 

Running a hand through his hair, he scanned the land around him with worried eyes.

_Where are you, mellon nin?_

For a few moments, he merely sat still, pondering. Then, in response to a voice within him, Aragorn looked down at his horse. Abruptly, he dismounted, unrolled his blanket, and from within the folds, withdrew Legolas' cloak that he had brought along. Running his hands over the material, he contemplated.

It still held the scent of its owner – the scent of wood and blossoms and sun, briefly comforting the Ranger like a warm memory.

He turned and walked to the front of the horse. Speaking soothingly in the elvish tongue, he placed the material against his palm and gently caressed one side of the stallion's face with it before holding it softly under and against its nose, letting it breathe in the essence of the elf. He felt a little sheepish, for this was no bloodhound. But then, this was no ordinary horse either. It had been bred and raised by the Horse Lords of Rohan, no less, and trained at the hands of the elf prince himself. And sometimes, the strength of unseen bonds that tie one living being to another is greater than that of fibre or metal, defying understanding and explanation. What did he have to lose by trying?

Placing the other hand on the animal's long neck, he whispered to it.

Good Rallias, help me find him. Follow the lead of the one who taught you to tame your spirit. Find his scent and the scent of your companion Aérodel. Take me to them, my friend.

Aragorn waited as Rallias stood unmoving.

Then, ever so lightly, it nudged its master's shoulder in response, lifted its proud head and snorted, stamping a foreleg. It continued to hold its head high and its nostrils flared as Aragorn remounted and placed the cloak securely before him on the saddle. Strong equine muscles rippled beneath the rider as the horse turned its noble head slowly from one side to the other, before reorienting its body in a direction slightly to the north.

For a few moments, it remained still in that position, and Aragorn held his breath. A tingle of anticipation ran through the Ranger as he felt the horse tense in preparation, and his fingers closed around the reins, clutching tightly.

One moment more, the horse stood still, poised for flight.

Then, with a spurt of power that threw the rider in a backward motion, the magnificent stallion shot forward like an arrow, breaking into a smooth, confident run, its mane a stream of silk in the wind, its head never wavering from the yet unseen target for which it headed.

Aragorn's own excitement grew with the horse's, as he trustingly allowed the intelligent creature's bond with his elf trainer to lead him whither it would. Faster and swifter they went, the rider bent forward now, without a single fear as to where they were going, letting the call of love be their guide. The land flowed beneath them in a blur of green and brown, measured not in distance but in heartbeats as man and horse glided over it as one entity.

The Ranger felt a wild rush of exhilaration from the swiftness of the ride, his ears hearing only the whipping breath of the wind, his body aware only of a smooth forward movement, propelled along a journey not to somewhere but to someone.

And then, despite his anxiety for his friend, before he could control it and not wanting to control it, a burst of exultant laughter loosed from his lips and set his heart soaring as it had so long ago, before his life was tied to kingly duties and hemmed in by stone walls, when he could roam and run and ride with the careless freedom of a young man, when fewer fetters held him from seeking the company of the very elf he was pursuing now so that they could taste their lives as passionately and uninhibitedly as he did at this moment.

The rush of emotions washed over him and overwhelmed him – this Ranger of the North, this King of Gondor and Arnor, this man, this friend – so that his heart was laid bare and his breath came in unashamed sobs with only the land and the sky as witnesses. His tears mingled with his laughter, warm wet pain upon cold cheeks, drying in the speed of the wind even as they fell unbidden and unchecked.

With the image of a fair face gracing their vision and the feel of elven fingers plucking gently at their heartstrings, Man and beast rode on the notes of their soaring song of pursuit, lost in a crescendo of devotion that grew with each heartbeat. On they went, borne on a melody of love and loyalty, till at last, in the distance, a green line of trees came into view, beckoning patiently like a long closing curtain to their performance.

Never would he forget this ride, Aragorn thought shakily, nor the raw emotions it had called forth from the depths of his soul, both invigorating and drowning him. He wished with all his heart that Legolas could have experienced what he did as he rode across the plain himself, but he knew the elf could not have, being burdened with a captive. Wistfully, he swore to himself that he would take time to taste such pure joy again and to share it with those he held dear.

As the line of trees grew clearer, Aragorn reluctantly let the passion of the ride subside, slowly, slowly, till all that was left was a warm, tingling reminder of it flowing through his veins, and he released a shuddering sigh as he felt their feet touch the earth once more.

The sight of the forest ahead sobered him again and reminded him of the task yet to be achieved. Yet, the sight was as hope to Aragorn, for it meant that he was headed where the map had indicated he should be, were he bound for Adhûn. He had no such intention of going there, however, nor would he allow his friend to go that far if he could help it.

_Surely, with all the speed Rallias poured into the ride, we must have closed the distance between us_, he hoped

The thought spurred him on. He made no effort to try and identify where in that long line of trees he was supposed to be headed, still letting the horse choose the path.

The man's trust in Rallias was not in vain, for presently, horse and rider reached the same tree that marked the beginning of the trail Legolas and Brûyn had taken. Rallias slowed down as it neared the edge of the forest where the trees were closer together and great roots formed obstacles to speed. But the horse seemed confident as it trotted closer to the tree and prepared to pick its way around the roots and past the great silent sentinel into the forest.

Casting his eyes around, Aragorn suddenly reined in the horse, bidding it to halt. His eyes were fixed on the ground at the foot of the tree. Dismounting, he walked quickly over to where his sharp eyes had seen something that had quickened his heartbeat, and he bent down for a closer look.

Fingers trembling with hope and excitement, he reached out.

The man's smile widened suddenly, and he gave a small whoop of delight even before his eager fingers picked up the object that held greater value for him now than _mithril _or gold.

It was a simple _mallorn _leaf, tucked snugly in the narrow crook between two roots. The creases on the leaf indicated beyond a doubt that it had only recently held _lembas_, waybread of elves and of Prince Legolas.

And just as surely, the elf prince had left it there as a subtle sign for elven eyes, or for the only human ones he trusted not to miss it: the eyes of the Ranger Aragorn.

* * *

_My next two or three chapters will take more time – but even that means a week or two, probably not more. _

_But could you drop me a line to tell me – honestly – if I'm going too fast? Leaving you too breathless? _


	19. The Reality of a Nightmare

_**Note**: Please bear with LONGER introductory notes this time. _

_**REVIEWER RESPONSES**_

_There was such a delightful number of reviews for Chap 18 that I wish to acknowledge everyone who wrote in:_

_**Alison H, Ithilvalon **(Faramir will survive the aging)**, Kelsey Estel, Yavieriel Tarandir, lindahoyland, Harrowcat, Red Squirrel **and** Tinnuial **(welcome back, both): So glad you loved the ride in Chap 18. I've never had the privilege of riding a horse, but I hoped so very much to do that ride and Aragorn's emotions justice through my description, so I truly poured my heart and energy into this one scene, tweaking and rewriting it up till the very moment before I posted. Thus, all your votes of approval (including those from **Shaan Lien**, **Black Squirrel **and others, I suspect, although they were not explicit) mean more to me than you know. Thank you!_

_**AM, Lyn, Shadowfax2931/Amanda**: I wish I had a great horse too; heck, I wish I had a horse._

_**Slayer3, Deana, Kirsten: **(Your eagerness for updates is always an amusing delight.) **Sayre,** **Elvendancer, eliza61, blah blah, anon, kukumalu, Ruth, Sabrina, Jennifer: **Thank you all so much for responding to my question about posting time, I was not teasing / kidding – I did have a genuine reason for asking. But you have convinced me to continue posting as I have done: I will post a chapter only when it is ready, and as soon as it is ready – I won't wait. **Viggomaniac: **Hope you get to #50 soon. _

**_OBSERVATIONS ON LOTR CONTENT _**

_On Galdor _

_**Alariel: **Thank you very much for your review and discussion, although I'm curious about where Galdor is mentioned as the representative from Mirkwood at the Council, as the FOTR (Book 1) identifies him as an elf from the Grey Havens, come on an errand from Cirdan the Shipwright. Also, the elf that Sam and Frodo met on the way to Bree was Gildor Inglorion, not Galdor. Two different elves, I think. As for my age, etc. – all I will say at this point is that I am no spring chicken (believe me, hahaha!). No other details will I reveal, except that I am not a native speaker of English, although it is the language with which I am most comfortable. Creative writing is a hobby, but one I have not engaged in for more years than I can remember. My love of it, however, has never faded. It gives me liberties with expression and structure which would be considered a deviation from prescribed rhetoric. (This, I think, is the one and only time I will include this boring information about myself in a chapter._)_ Don't worry about not being able to review every chapter – I appreciate just hearing from you._

_On 'glowing' elves_

_**Maverick: **Since you are the second reader to wonder where the idea of glowing elves originated, I am including here the response I posted earlier in the review section:_

_…in Chapter 3 of the Fellowship of the Ring, Frodo and Sam come across High Elves who were bathed in starlight. Also, when Glorfindel (also a High Elf, and my other favorite) appears in Chapter 12, the chapter says: "To Frodo it appeared that a white light was shining through the form and raiment of the rider Glorfindel, as if through a thin veil."_

_So, in essence, these High elves either capture and reflect light, or they radiate it, i.e., they 'glow'._

_Thus, whether or not it makes them an easy target at night, the concept was not created by a fanfic writer. The concept is based on our interpretation of the images Tolkien described. Perhaps we differ in how we visualise those book images, but I can safely say that for me, the concept was not a product of my imagination - I wish I were that creative! __Neither did I copy the idea blindly. The image from the book has always fascinated me because it is such a distinctive attribute of elves; it would have gone into this work anyway. I actually would have preferred to use 'bathed in starlight' rather than 'glow', but I decided on the latter because of one reservation I have always had, i.e., I have often debated whether it was only the Eldar (High Elves) that possessed this attribute, or all elves. But since all elves are people of the starlight, I find it fascinating to imagine that all of them would have some degree of luminescence, even in the dark. My compromise was to use 'glow' rather than 'bathed in starlight' to mute the effect. But hmm... perhaps I should just go for the latter..._

_Anyway, this was an interesting point for discussion, so thank you for bringing it up._

**_WARNING:_** _Again, I don't know how to rate this chapter exactly, but some kind of PG rating is applicable here, in case there are children reading. _

* * *

CHAPTER 19: THE REALITY OF A NIGHTMARE 

The trail through the forest took Legolas, Aérodel and Brûyn along rough paths in depressing shadows that reached out to them with groping fingers. They had to dismount to hike over a woody rise and descend a steep grassy face before getting on Aérodel again. Finally, they emerged on the far end of the forest, on the threshold of another flat expanse. They were still on slightly higher ground, so Legolas could see the lie of the land.

This stretch of flat land was much less grassy than the plain they had crossed the previous night, and it was almost cloven in two by a curious formation: a gully shaped like a scythe, deep and wide, but Legolas was not high enough to see to the bottom of it, although he thought his elven ears could hear, just faintly, the sound of running water. The blade part of the scythe-like feature began near the edge of this forest and curved north for some distance before turning back south, then straightening in an easterly direction like a handle. On both sides of the handle-part of the gully were more forests, thick with tall trees, so that Legolas could not clearly see where the gully ended.

"How far does the gully run?" he asked the man in front of him.

"A fair distance," the man replied, "it ends somewhere in those forests yonder, out of sight from here. It is deep, and at the bottom there is a small river."

"And its course?"

"All the way to Adhûn and to the Sea of Rhûn."

The man spoke the truth; he saw no point in hiding this information. He would say anything to distract the elf from the fact that the flat rock of the Table lay not very far from them, hidden within the tall forests on the north side of the scythe's handle. That was where he was going to lead the elf, and he nursed the hope that his companions would be there. It would be an even greater stroke of luck if Sarambaq were there as well.

Legolas had not the slightest suspicion of this secret hope. Any uneasiness he felt, he attributed to the whole situation he was in. Instead, he pondered the man's description of the gully and river. Adhûn was a long way yet, but if the gully ended in the forests and the river went on…

"Do you mean the river goes… underground?" he asked.

"For a long way, aye, it comes out this end from a tunnel - you will see if you ride close to it – and it goes back into another. One league from Adhûn, it comes out from a big opening in the rock face."

Legolas imagined that the prospect of being trapped in that underground stream of water would not be a pleasant experience, even if one did not drown. Not wishing to dwell on more depressing thoughts, and expecting another long ride, he asked the man where they should head next.

Brûyn pointed to the northern end of the gully. "We have to go around that and then head for that patch of forest," he replied, keeping his voice as steady as he could and hiding a mounting excitement.

It was not quite mid-day yet, but Legolas felt like the shadows of the forest seemed to follow him into the open, for already the sun was hiding behind gathering clouds, unwilling to lift the strange gloom that had descended on his spirits.

Legolas was about to guide Aérodel toward the north when he suddenly paused and gave a small gasp. He had the strangest sensation that something was reaching for him, trying to find him. His mind went immediately to the _mallorn _leaf he had left between the roots of the great tree, and to the decision he had made several hours ago.

* * *

_Wait for me, Legolas._

_Those words were his first thought when the elf woke up at dawn. He sensed that it had been Aragorn saying them to him last night._

_But why? Why ask me to wait? Is he… could he be… coming after me? Surely he could not have found out so soon._

_The elf closed his eyes and sighed, leaning back against the tree trunk. Estel must have gone to Ithilien, he thought, but I never wished for him to come on my trail._

_If you are coming after me, stubborn human – turn back. Do you not know how dangerous it is for you to come here? Sarambaq wanted your son; he will surely want to harm you. _

_Let me finish scouting the area. I will bring back the information soon enough. And…I am not ready to see you yet. Not till I have what I set out to find. I am not ready to face you yet. Go back._

_Legolas sighed again._

_He wanted nothing more than for his friend to turn around and return home, but if he was indeed on his trail… well then, the elf would rather the man find him and be at his side than wander the dark forests on his own. On his own… or was he with elves?_

_Legolas did not know, but he did not want to wait or turn back to check, for if he was mistaken, he would lose precious time. That was when he made the decision to leave a clue that only Aragorn or one of the elves would notice. If they were indeed looking for him, they would find him. If they were not, the leaf would hold no meaning for anyone else._

* * *

Legolas came back to the present. This sensation he had now… were his friends trying to find him? Should he wait? 

Again, he decided against it. But in turning his head back toward the forest, he missed the look of suppressed and nervous excitement on the face of the Adhûnian.

Legolas was not particularly keen to ride in the open in broad daylight, but it did not seem he had a choice. He would try to reach the next patch of trees in the distance as swiftly as he could, and get under the cover of woods again.

Keeping a firm grip on Aérodel's reins, he began the ride down to maneuver around the curved gully.

* * *

Sarambaq stood on the edge of the flat rock looking down at his men moving about below. He had decided to move the bulk of their equipment and supplies back to Adhûn and leave some behind so that men could move more quickly; it would be a long trek back, and not all of them could go on horseback as the horses would be needed to bear the equipment. 

He cast a look over his shoulder at Dárkil, which was basking quietly in whatever sunlight was available. Soon, it would have to fly him home.

Suddenly, the beast stirred and raised its head, listening. Sarambaq noticed the movement but was not unduly alarmed. The beast sometimes reacted to large birds flying overhead or creatures within reach of its powerful jaws, excited at the possibility of a meal. Or, perhaps it was just curious about something in the forest nearby, in which case Sarambaq would not be able to see what it was through the thick foliage.

He turned his eyes back to the men below, but spun back to face the beast a second later when it emitted a small screech. Its eagle-like head was raised even higher on its long neck now, the serpentine eyes roaming.

Sarambaq's brows furrowed. What had disturbed the beast from its quiet reverie?

As if in answer, Sarambaq's own senses tingled. He had been Sauron's minion for many years and had gained some of his black powers of perception. Something was coming this way, something that was not there earlier, something – or someone – that was not part of this little domain he had staked.

* * *

Reaching the head of the gully, Legolas saw that there was indeed a river at the bottom. It flowed out quietly, almost languidly, from a tunnel framed between surprisingly gentle slopes, which soon turned into steep walls on both sides of the chasm. _A strange feature indeed_, the elf thought, wondering from which distant snow-capped mountain the river began. 

They had now ridden around the northern curve of the gully and were headed straight toward the forest of tall trees as Brûyn directed. They were not far from the edge of the woody area now.

But, where he had hoped to reach the cover of the forest as soon as he could, Legolas now sensed some shadow, an uneasiness, gather in the forest ahead and reach toward him like an unseen hand. It was not Brûyn. And it was not _from _Brûyn. Yet… now he could sense some tension and nervousness from the man.

"That is where we need to go?" he asked the man, and realized that he was speaking through slightly clenched teeth.

"Yes, yes. That is the path we have to take, that forest there."

He sounded just a little too eager.

The elf tensed and focused his elven senses. Brûyn sat stiffly before, careful to keep his face away from the elf the whole time, his eyes trained on the forest ahead.

_Not long now. Keep going, elf. And if you are there, Sarambaq, let there be nothing to give it away._

Legolas looked to the right and left, but he kept turning back to the front. To the forest.

The forest.

Legolas felt his breath stifle.

_What is happening?_

Aérodel sensed his unease and slowed down without being told to, trotting cautiously and whinnying softly.

_Clip. Clop. _The sound of its steps tapped a hesitant rhythm.

_Clip clop. Clip. Clop._

The elf stiffened.

_What is wrong with that sound? _Legolas asked himself, puzzled.

_Clip clop… clip clop._

_It is the sound of Aérodel's steps. What could be wrong with it? _

_Clip. Clop._

Then Legolas grew rigid and he sucked in a breath. That sound.

_Clip clop._

There was nothing wrong with the sound.

What was wrong was that – besides his breathing, the lazy flow of water, and the slight friction of the man's clothing against the saddle as they moved – it was suddenly the only sound he could hear.

All other sounds of life had stopped.

In that moment, everything that had bothered him throughout the journey hammered against his chest like a sharp blow.

The forests, the shadows, the darkness. Dol Guldur.

The shadow, the furtiveness, Brûyn, those eyes, so like… Sméagol's. Sméagol, hiding in Dol Guldur before the Quest, before Mithrandir and Aragorn brought him to Mirkwood, before he escaped from the elves. From his own hands.

His nightmare. Dol Guldur. Sméagol.

This nervous captive in front of him. This place. That forest looming before them.

His nightmare.

They were all related.

Legolas shuddered as a light pierced his mind. This was what the nightmare had been about. It had been a warning. A foreshadowing of what would happen.

Here. Now.

He would be attacked again, and he would lose another captive. Sméagol then. Brûyn now.

And all his elven senses told him to flee.

_Flee!_

"We will turn back here," he said abruptly, urgently, and tugged at Aérodel's reins to turn him around.

To his surprise, and yet not totally unexpected, Brûyn protested, his hands clutching at Legolas.

"No, no! Keep going, this is the right way."

Now Legolas' senses screamed in warning. "Why? Why that way? What are you up to? You have some foul plan!"

Cowering under the elf's acid tone and icy stare, Brûyn replied weakly, "No…"

Suddenly, Aérodel's hooves and their voices were no longer the only sounds Legolas could hear. Now, from somewhere in the dark of the forest and above the forest, there came a screech, unearthly but of this earth, the proud screech of an eagle and the fearsome one of a demon, a screech that stopped the heart but drove one to flee.

And there launched from some unseen perch behind the tops of tall trees something Legolas could not earlier see but now beheld with wide, startled eyes: Dárkil, spawn of a vile mind, sprung from the seeds of twisted creatures. A dark beast that spread its huge wings and shoved the elf's fear down the paths of his memory as if he was seeing again – reborn and welded with the power of the Windlord – the foul steed of Sauron's Ringwraith.

And on his back was a huge, dark figure, slighter than the Witch king had been, but just as malevolent in the aura and the cry he sent forth. From his eyes radiated both hatred and joy at what the day had brought him, for as he approached to see what had riled his steed, his eyes – in which remained still some remnant of the power bestowed by the Dark Lord – had recognized, beyond all hope and expectation, the very prize he had sought and failed to ensnare, but which was now offering itself to him at his doorstep.

As the beast flew up and toward them, Aérodel reared and neighed in terror as it had never done before, and only his bond with the animal kept the elf from falling off in the sudden movement. But the bond did not hold Brûyn, who slid and fell against the elf before plummeting sideways to the ground.

Before Legolas could retrieve him, another screech came from the beast, and the rider urged it onward, shouting to the figures of men who emerged from the depths of the forest with swords and with arrows, some yelling as they ran, some riding after him, men very much like the one who had been Legolas' captive just moments ago. Brûyn picked himself up and started hobbling toward them, shouting: "It's him! It's him!"

_It's him?_

Legolas' heart thudded within him. _It's him?_

But the elf could wonder no longer at the strange meaning of the words. The attack had come, and the captive had found escape. Once again.

And once again, the life of a Mirkwood elf hung in the balance.

Aérodel needed no command to take flight; still, Legolas shouted, urging him, just as Glorfindel had done ten years ago, when upon the back of Asfaloth Frodo had fled to the Fords of Bruinen: _"Noro lim, _Aérodel. Fly, the enemy is upon us!"

Even as Legolas headed back toward the way he had come, he knew his desperate attempt to return to the cover of the forest would be in vain.

Closer now came the foul reek of Dárkil, the wind of its wings rushing above and behind the elf rider. Legolas turned his head for a sight of the beast and was horrified by the proximity of it. There would be no escape, no possible evasion, and a thousand images of loved ones and treasured places raced through his mind as he tensed for the stabbing thrust of sharp talons through his back and chest.

* * *

Drawn by the loud screeching of a demonic creature, a Ranger's head snapped up. One moment was all he spared to listen, and then he was spurring his horse on, crashing through trees and undergrowth in a desperate ride to exit the forest. The terrified neighing of a horse made his heart clench, forcing a cry from his throat. In ignorance, fear ruled, and the name of his friend was on his lips as he sought wildly and urgently the first sign of a way out.

* * *

Legolas did not feel sharp claws rend his flesh, for Dárkil passed over elf and horse, and flew a little higher, surprising the elf for a moment. But his bewilderment was short-lived when he saw what the beast was doing. 

It turned in mid-air high above them and came back down in a deadly swoop straight at them, emitting from its throat a harsh screech that made the very air shudder with its ferocity. It was close enough now for the elven eyes of Legolas to see the merciless malice both in the eyes sitting in the hideous head of the beast and in the snarl on the face of its rider.

The terror of the brave elvish horse was grievous to see as once again, it reared fiercely at the sight and sound of a beast it had never encountered. This time, the movement caught the rider off-guard, and Legolas fell backward and off, landing on his back.

A second later, before the horror-stricken eyes of the elf, the talons of the beast sank into the neck and body of his faithful horse, wrapping around it and bearing it straight into the air.

With a cry of deep sorrow and shock, Legolas leapt to his nimble feet and fitted an arrow from his quiver before the eye could even discern what he was doing, and he tracked the flight of the beast as it swept over him. Then, standing tall as he had done so on a night ten years ago, when the Fellowship had also been threatened by the flight of a Nazgul on the banks of the Sarn Gebir rapids, he sighed "_Elbereth Gilthoniel!_" and released an arrow from the powerful bow of Lothlorien, which was even now held in his strong hands. Singing, the arrow found a mark in the chest of the flying beast, and before the song of the first arrow was finished, two more arrows joined it. The second struck the space between one wing and the body, and the third reached the other wing.

With a mighty screech of shock and pain, the beast released the horse from its talons and flew in a jagged flight path back to the forest, with its rider screaming desperate orders in anger to the men below.

Eyes wide with horror, Legolas watched the elvish horse fall through the air to land on the hard unyielding ground with a sickening thud, and he knew even without seeing that it could not have survived a drop from that height. Choking on his anger and his tears, he fitted more arrows and started shooting at the approaching men through blurry eyes. Even so launched, fifteen arrows found fifteen targets, leaving an empty quiver and a mighty bow bereft of song.

Twin elven knives left their sheaths in a deft twirling movement. With breathtaking grace gifted by elven blood and an unrivalled speed acquired through a thousand years of training, Legolas began a deadly dance, his deceptively slender arms dealing out death and injury with each step of his limber feet as furious men swarmed upon him with brutal yells.

Never had they encountered such fierce resistance, not even when they had been in Ithilien, for this was a single elf fending off foes outnumbering him by scores. This day, they tasted the sharp bite of lethal blades as a lone Firstborn fought for his life, golden hair swirling and lithe body leaping, twisting and turning – a vision so beautiful and captivating it belied the desperation and deadly purpose of the movements.

But even as the elf added to the growing pile of wounded or dying bodies that had fallen at the ends of his knives, more came, not lifeless, but very much animate, with viciousness in their eyes and their yells. Legolas recalled the words he had imparted at the Council of Elrond:

_When the battle was over, we found that Gollum was gone, and his guards were slain or taken. _

Slain or taken.

Blue eyes filled with fear and the fury of betrayal took in the futility of the situation before them as they forced back silent tears, but the fair face was resolute: he had lost his captive, but he would not be taken easily and he would not give in to aggressors. If his life was to end today, he would make his last stand with honor and go down fighting those who had violated the peace of Gondor and the safety of Aragorn's family.

* * *

Barely discernable were the sounds of battle that reached his ears, but they were enough to drive Aragorn furiously forward, fighting each obstacle in his way, till at last, with a surge of gratitude, he saw a lighter patch of sunlight ahead, at the top of a rise. He leapt off the horse and hauled himself up the steep incline, trusting Rallias to find his own safe path. Feeling a sudden rush of fear, and impatient to get to the top, he felt not pain as he used his hands to grab at whatever was in sight to hasten his climb. 

Up this face of the rise, and he was at the crest. The next instant, he was descending. Down he sped, running, sliding, without a thought as to when he might slam headfirst into a tree; he had to get there – out of the forest. Where the sounds were and what might be happening, he did not want to imagine, yet he had to know.

* * *

Legolas ignored the multitude of small cuts he had received all over his body, standing proud and defiant as the men hemmed him in from every direction, on foot and on horseback. 

As he wearily warded off two blows from the right, he felt something sharp pierce the left side of his neck, and something else penetrated his thigh. He had no time to wonder what was happening as he fought off more blows and dodged a swing from a sword that narrowly missed his head.

"Take him alive, you fools! Alive!" came a shout.

A burning numbness quickly assailed his flesh in both places where he had felt the sting, and he reeled from a strange lightheaded sensation in his head. Before Legolas could grasp what it meant, someone attacked him with a club from the front, and as he lifted his arm to fend it off …

"Noooooooooooooooooo!"

…there was another angry yell from someone, but a blade had already been brandished by a rider on horseback, finding its mark on the elf, ripping brutally into his side, drawing forth a pitiful cry of agonizing pain as the slender form flinched sharply and bent over. Gasping torturously, Legolas swiftly straightened himself again, knives gripped tightly.

But as suddenly as they had begun, the attacks stopped.

* * *

Almost there, almost at the edge of the forest now. 

But then the sounds of battle stopped, and Aragorn felt his breath stop with them.

He felt detached from his feet as they frantically raced to complete the last few yards.

* * *

In the lull that followed, Legolas stood still and looked around him, dazed. The Adhûnians were no longer moving toward him; they just stood tensely and stared. The horsemen had slowed to a halt. 

Even as he wondered at the cessation of the assault, Legolas realized with a shock that feeling was quickly abandoning his body, leaving his neck and chest and arms, his legs becoming more like lean wooden poles. Panic swept over him, and he struggled to retain his senses.

The elf brought his eyes down to his side and watched deep crimson liquid spread across his tunic. The knives fell from his now numb hands and dropped uselessly to the ground. He kept standing through sheer force of will.

For the second time since he heard the screech of the demon beast, the thoughts of his father and his loved ones raced through this mind, till two images remained and swam before his wide, moist, frightened eyes.

_Hold on, hold on_, he willed himself_. I need to see. I need to tell them._

His breaths came in short spurts. He lifted his head and looked past the hostile faces around him, desperately seeking something on the ground in the distance. The rapidly failing blue eyes found what they were looking for and focused on it. Fixing his sorrow-laden gaze, he whispered weakly:

_Namárië, Aérodel. Farewell, faithful friend. _

Swaying on his feet now, he again looked past the faces of his foes, all traced with curiosity as they watched the forlorn figure turn his ashen face and unfocused, pain-filled eyes to his right this time, to the forest beyond the gully, from which he had come.

His tears came at last as his pale lips moved to form voiceless words: _Turn back, Aragorn, I've failed. _

The beautiful blue eyes closed.

_Forgive me, _he breathed, and fell.

* * *

From the shelter of the trees at which he had arrived barely moments ago, panting with the strain of the hurried ascent, the Ranger strained his sharp eyes across the expanse of land. Frozen with shocked disbelief, his ragged breathing turning to sudden chokes, he saw the slender, bloody figure of a golden-haired elf turn his way, heard with his mind rather than his ears the tearful warning and apology whispered by the fair lips, and felt his own life drain from him a moment later, as he watched the friend who held part of his heart crumble lifelessly to the ground.

* * *

_The author is not responsible for any damage inflicted upon vocal cords, cardiac muscles, or other body parts; furniture, coffee mugs (that's you, Red Squirrel), or any other object close at hand to the reader – as a result of having read this chapter to its conclusion._


	20. Breath of Life

CHAPTER 20: BREATH OF LIFE

As his eyes confronted a scene he had never expected to witness, Aragorn felt his world come crashing down about him.

His immediate impulse was to call out the name. _That_ name. He moved his lips but no words came. He was choking, strangled by a knot of grief that welled up from his heart to seize his throat in an excruciating, unrelenting grip. His eyes went wide and wild with horror as he sank to his knees, trying desperately, desperately, to draw breath.

With an agonizing effort, he inhaled. One deep gulp of air. And another. And he was breathing again, rapid, panicked breaths that seared his lungs and rendered him weak as his mind recalled what his eyes had witnessed. What he thought they had witnessed.

He was still not sure he had seen it, for not even in the darkest hour of the Quest had the elf faltered. Not once.

Had he really fallen _now_? _Here_?

He looked up. In the distance, a group of men surrounded a figure on the ground, shielding it from his sight, and Aragorn gagged again when he realized that his eyes had not been mistaken. He _had_ seen Legolas fall.

He tried to get up and run. Run _there_, run to that accursed spot. But his feet were as lead, and he was not running. He looked around frantically. Rallias! Where was Rallias?

The horse was nowhere within sight. He spun round again to look beyond the gully, trying to see more, trying to part the barrier of men with his eyes, but the figure was still hidden from him. _He _was hidden from him. Aragorn grew frantic again.

_Oh Eru, he cannot be gone, he cannot be gone._

Gone. The word gripped his heart like an iron claw, and a wave of nausea assailed him anew. He bent over again, forehead on the forest floor, hands clutching at nothing and everything in an effort to grasp at something that made sense.

In the brief moments that followed, a hundred images and thoughts assaulted his mind, cruelly declaring what death would rob from Legolas and from all who treasured him: a Firstborn's desire to sail to Valinor, a dream to return Arda its birthright of green peace, an elven kingdom's tribute to a noble prince, a father's final embrace of a worthy son, a little boy's shining admiration… When Aragorn's thoughts finally turned to his own loss, he felt his heart shatter: he would not even have the chance to express his own regrets or to repay the debts of love he owed his truest friend.

The Ranger would have ranted his despair right then had his voice not failed him and all strength abandoned him. The only sense he could make of anything at that moment was the light sound of footfalls beside him. Slow, gentle footfalls that rustled sleeping leaves.

Rallias bent its long neck and nuzzled its master tenderly. So tenderly.

Something soft fell on Aragorn's back. From reflex more than conscious thought, he reached up, felt it, drew it to him. It was Legolas' cloak. He had not bothered to roll it up again; it had sat before him on the whole ride, on the whole journey through the forest.

And now it came to him. Numbly, he looked at it. Felt it. The scent of the Woodelf was there, taunting him. Saying he had come too late. Too late.

Helplessly, the face of the King and the Ranger and the friend fell into it, and from where his grief had been pushed down, it now gushed up and spilled over, thick with sorrow. Finally, from total silence, total muteness, his voice found release again. Aragorn screamed his life into the cloak, calling over and over the name of his friend, his painful shouts and cries muted by the soft cloth as he drowned in the terror of a feeling of utter loss.

* * *

"Now you're for it, oaf!" a gruff and angry voice shouted up at a sallow-faced man dismounting from his horse. The speaker was frantically pressing a wad of material torn from some dirty garment against the wound in Legolas' side, watched by numerous faces blanched with fear. "The master will have your head for this."

The dismounted rider walked haughtily up to the group of men surrounding the still figure on the ground. Brûyn was among them. His bonds had been cut and he had been staring with wide, panicked eyes at the ashen face of the prone and bloodied form. Now he joined the first speaker in berating the approaching figure.

"Pöras, you're a fool! I did not bring him all this way for you to kill him!" he shrieked in a shrill voice. "I wanted to deliver him to Sarambaq alive and kicking. He already had two darts in him, enough to take him down. Why did you have to do him in?"

A growl of irritation was the reply that came from the one being accused. "Gah! My blade did not swing to kill, only to stop him." He glared at his companions. "What? You would have him slaughtering us? All of you numbskulls? You saw how he was fighting with the fury of ten mad men, even with the darts in him!" He turned to the first speaker, a challenge in his hard eyes. "You, Närum! Were you at the end of his knife, would you still not let me slay him?"

"Shut up, Pöras," said Närum firmly, his face black with ire. "The poison just needed time, you know that, you should have waited." He snarled at the other man. "You are not the only one who will suffer the master's anger. It will be ugly."

Pöras cringed inwardly at Närum's words, for he knew they were true, but pride donned a mask of arrogance to conceal his fear. "Ahhh, move off!" he growled impatiently, pushing aside the others to drop on one knee before the unmoving figure on the ground. He studied it with narrowed eyes.

If death had claimed the elf, its hold was but a weak one, for, even devoid of the warm blush of life and with numerous small cuts to his body, his face lost none of its fairness, nor his hair the luster of gold, nor his limbs their graceful lines. But the elven form was marred by an ugly gash on the left side of his torso that cut through his clothing and flesh beneath.

Pöras grasped one of the cold, limp wrists roughly, and a dubious look flitted across his features. With a sudden movement, he drew a dagger from his belt and poised to sweep it downward to the still face. Loud were the shouts of shock and distress from his companions.

* * *

Aragorn pushed himself up, still feeling a dead weight on his shoulders. But he was kneeling now, forcing himself to steady his breathing, forcing his tightly shuttered eyelids to relax, forcing his fists to unclench from the tight grip they had had on the elven cloak. From somewhere deep within him, inexplicably and unanticipated, a voice of resolve stirred to whisper to him.

_He is not gone, he is not dead. You cannot believe it. You will NOT believe it._

The Ranger started reproaching himself. If their positions were reversed, he thought, Legolas would not lose hope. He would refuse to believe his friend was gone. Not till he saw with his own eyes all signs of life fade away, not till he held him and felt him and knew for certain.

Now Aragorn would do the same. He would hold on to hope.

_After all, had they not wanted the prince alive? _

That reminder was as a calmative. He controlled his breathing, slowing it, measuring each rise and fall of his chest. Training his eyes to the scene beyond the gully again, he found the wall of men still erected around the one he longed to see. But he was calmer now. He could think ahead, he could plan. He could tell himself that regardless of what his heart desired, rushing headlong with his sword into that situation could well bring death to himself and his friend. Even if Legolas were gone, it would be a rash, pointless act, but if he were still alive, it was even more imperative for him to remain in a position to help the elf.

_If he is alive. If he is alive_. Aragorn's heart lurched at the possibility.

At that point, he knew: all he needed to go on, to brave any obstacle, was some sign, some small sign, that his friend was still alive. If he had that sign, he would reach Legolas even if all the fires of Mordor stood between them.

Encouraged by how he and Legolas seemed to have been able to sense and hear each other since the night before, and in awe of that bond, he decided to let it bring him hope. However small a glimmer, it would still be hope.

With that thought, he slowed his breathing even further.

In. Out. In. Out. Slowly.

He cleared his mind of everything, everything, save the face of his elven friend.

And then, only then, did he utter a plaintive, heartfelt plea with his trembling lips.

_Reach out to me, my friend. Tell me you are still with me. Let me know you have not left._

A long, deep breath punctuated the end of his supplication, and Aragorn was ready. Keeping his eyes closed and his mind open, he bowed his head, forgot his body, forgot the forest around him, and waited.

* * *

Time seemed to stand still when Pöras' dagger poised but for a moment in mid-air, freezing everyone who watched its movement… so that when the downward sweep came, he was too quick for the few shocked Adhûnians who rushed to stay his arm.

Stopping his dagger but a hair's breadth away from the elf's face, he snorted in disdain. "Ho, twenty of you with but one slow mind," he commented arrogantly without looking up. "Look!"

Bewildered, his companions looked on in speechless anticipation.

* * *

As Aragorn cleared his mind, the trees around him seemed to stop pulsing with life and wait with him. Rallias stood quiet and steadfast at his side, and his own breath seemed to still.

Silence.

Nothing moved.

Then it came.

A weak, warm, scented breeze rippled the air, almost imperceptibly, wafting to him and sighing around him. Gently, gently, it brushed his hair and whispered against his ears, feather-like and soft.

Aragorn gasped at the strange sensation, his instincts moving him to welcome it, embrace it. When it ceased, his breath hitched, and he almost reached out to grasp it as his heart felt a twist of alarm and loss.

But then it returned.

Like a soft caress, it touched his wet cheeks and soothed his brow. It drew another tear from his eye and teased his lips into a slow, sad smile. And as Aragorn embraced it again, his heart perceived what his eyes could not:

_He lives. _

* * *

With a flourish, Pöras brought the shiny blade of the dagger under the nose of the elf and waited while Närum, Brûyn and a few others crowded around him to see what he wished to flaunt to them.

A little mist from living breath was laid on the blade, hardly to be seen, but it was there. It went, but came again. And again.

* * *

Hope and certainty kindled in Aragorn's heart and lifted his spirits as he turned his face first to the sky and then to the forest standing in silent vigil around him, proclaiming in a hoarse voice to the listening clouds and trees:

"He lives! He lives! I feel it. He has not left."

* * *

At the sight of the mist from living elven breath, the distress and puzzlement of the Adhûnians turned to both disbelief and relief, released in a collective gasp from the men who but a while ago had cringed at the thought of facing Sarambaq's unrestrained fury.

"Our hides are safe for the moment," Närum conceded grudgingly, though the frown did not leave his face. "But we have to keep him alive, take care of the wound, or it will finish him off, with all that poison already in him." He pointed to the sword wound from which blood still seeped, albeit slowly.

"Well, tie it up!" someone suggested.

"Tear up more clothes then," Närum growled, "or we have naught to bind it with."

Brûyn was the first to respond, for he had vested too much interest and effort in bringing the elf here to lose his chance at a reward. Impatiently, he started tearing up parts of his shirt and those of his companions, dirty as they were, to form another rough wad against the wound and a long strip to tie around the elf's ribs and hold it down.

"How do we keep him alive with no medicines to treat him?" Brûyn asked.

"We stop the bleeding first, and remove the darts," Pöras said, fingering the exposed end of the first dart embedded in the elf's neck. A quick examination led him to the second in the lean muscle of the thigh. As he started to extract them with his bare fingers, he instructed. "Someone ride back to the woods and cut long branches to make a litter; use a blanket. We cannot drape him over a horse, not with that wound. Get back here as fast as you can."

"Get enough for several litters," Närum added, turning to Brûyn. "For all the wounded. And bring spades for digging."

Brûyn was reluctant to leave the elf, but complied, hurrying off with another man. If he had to go, he would use the chance to talk to Sarambaq himself at the caves.

Närum asked Pöras quietly, "Will he survive?"

The reply was tinged with annoyance. "His fate is uncertain, for I am no healer. You know as much or as little as I."

"Sarambaq will not like this," Närum muttered. "Where is he?"

"Tending to his beast, I wager," Pöras replied with a grunt. "It was shot by this elf we have to keep alive. His strength and aim was something to behold, but the beast is not that easy to kill."

"Aye, its skin is like leather, hard to pierce. The arrows could not have killed it."

"Still, it will be wretched with pain. I do not want to be the one to tend to it. It would snap my head off," Pöras said, shuddering.

Närum nodded but did not dwell long on that thought. Leaving the unconscious elf to Pöras' ministrations, he started giving instructions to the remaining men to move their fallen countrymen to one side of the plain. "We will bury the dead here and not leave them as carrion. Start digging with whatever you have."

* * *

With renewed vigor and a spirit shed of the weight of grief, Aragorn stood, clutching the cloak to his chest, and looked again across the land to where the group of figures now seemed to be talking excitedly.

Moments later, he was remounted on a willing Rallias. Fighting the urge to do anything impulsive, he left the threshold of the forest and marked a trail that would take him around the curved part of the gully to where his friend lay still and unmoving. He clung fiercely to one hope, one belief: that for now at least, Legolas was alive.

Soon, very soon, he would behold the truth for himself.

_I am coming, Legolas. I will not lose you now. Please hold on_,_ please wait. _

A steely resolve was in his eyes as his mind raced in time with Rallias' strides, forming a loose plan.

* * *

****

**_Author's Note_**:

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed – and survived – the last chapter._

_Because of you, I was tempted to name this chapter "Resuscitation":_

_**outofthebox, Shaan Lien, Deana, Ithil-valon, Slayer3, Alison H/Ali64, Alis world, AM, Shadowfax2931, Elf771, Snow-glory, Kelsey Estel, Sabrina, Kirsten, Yavariel Tarandir, kukumalu, lindahoyland, Mari **(always glad to hear from you whenever you can make it), including **ferret, Moe, Brakensilver,** **eliza61 **and_** _Templa Otmena,_**_ who have joined us for the first time. **Viggomaniac**: congratulations on catching up – and yes your gloat is noted. _:)

_**Alariel**: No rush, enjoy the slow ride to this chapter. _


	21. Affirmation

**_Note of thanks to reviewers_**:

_**Sabrina, Elf771, kukumalu, Templa Otmena, Shadowfax/Amanda: lindahoyland, Kelsey Setel, Kirsten, Brakensilver, Ithil-valon, Tinnuial, Slayer3, Snow-Glory, Deana** (I think you hold the record for the most number of times you were the first reviewer for each chapter),_** _Ali _**_and** Viggomaniac **(thank you for the info in your review, and no – writers aren't told such things; we don't know unless someone visits)._

_Aragorn shares all your sentiments, and the dagger smiles at the mischief it played on your nerves. _: )

_**Booklover Fanatic **and** Star-Stallion**: welcome on board! (Booklover: I will remember to plaster the disclaimer all over the page next time.)_

* * *

CHAPTER 21: AFFIRMATION 

As Aragorn left the forest, his heart both lightened by hope that Legolas was alive and laden with anxiety over the uncertain fate of his elven friend, he could not help ruing the chain of events that had led to this predicament, his own role in it not withstanding. Still, he allowed that feeling to be but a fleeting one, for this was not the time to dwell on regrets. Legolas had fallen and he was injured, of that he was sure, and no other need overrode that of getting to the elf's side as soon as possible.

The elves of Ithilien – and the men of Gondor, in all likelihood – would set off after him and Legolas if they did not return in a day or two, but he could not afford to wait for them.

No, Aragorn decided, the time for stealth was over. Just as all hope of secrecy during the Quest had fled with their trek through Moria, leaving them no choice but to seek an alternative route, he now felt he had little option but to follow a new plan and hope it would work.

The Ranger could not help thinking back to the numerous times during the Quest when he had had to make decisions without the benefit of adequate knowledge, how he had feared the consequences of each choice he pursued, and how Legolas – even when his elven heart told him it was not the best choice – always followed his lead, accepting him and supporting him.

_Few know whither the road leads till they come to its end, _the elf had observed sagely on their long, uncertain journey down the Great River. Holding to his own counsel, the elf had never once faulted the Ranger for something none of them could foresee, his loyalty not diminishing even in the face of danger and death.

Now, Aragorn realized, it was the life of this very friend that depended on yet another path he had to map out. Would Legolas be as supportive now?

As soon as the question crossed his mind, Aragorn knew the answer. Even if it were his own life that was to be decided by Aragorn's choice, the elf prince would not waver, he would hold true to the King. Looking out over the plain where this elf now did indeed lie helpless, the King felt humbled.

_Let my choices now not be ill, _Aragorn begged of the Valar. _Guide my feet to the right path, for I could not bear to lose the friend who has remained steadfast at my side on every path onto which I have strayed_.

With that entreaty, he steeled his resolve once more and continued his trek down to the plain where his friend lay.

* * *

The roar of rage from Sarambaq almost plastered Brûyn and his companion to the cave wall as they related to Sarambaq all that had happened to the elf.

"H- h- he is alive, master," Brûyn's companion ventured nervously, trying to placate his incensed master while staying as far out of the reach of the man's arm as possible.

The tall dark figure did not seem convinced. "If he dies, you will join him!" he screamed. "I've waited too long for this!"

"Yes, yes, I know," Brûyn stepped in quickly, keen to get into Sarambaq's good graces. "I made sure to lead him here in one piece." His eagerness was pathetic. "I thought you would be pleased."

Sarambaq looked at him as he would a mangy dog. "If – he – lives!" was the choppy, emphatic reply. "Gah! We have little enough to treat the wound you speak of. And I've used most of it on Dârkil, no thanks to the elf himself," he muttered, making a mental note to give the fool who had inflicted the sword wound more than a piece of his mind.

Emboldened by having proclaimed that he was the one who had brought the elf here, Brûyn decided to ask the question that had been puzzling him: "Why – why do you want him alive, master?"

Sarambaq whipped around and glared at him for a moment. "And what good would it do you to know why?" he challenged in a low, dangerous voice dripping with disdain.

Brûyn gulped. "All right, all right, I didn't mean anything by asking. Just wanted to know."

Sarambaq turned back to his thoughts of the elf. Hatred and satisfaction claimed his features.

_You are in my clutches at last, prince of Mirkwood. After ten years, I have you. But don't you dare die. Not yet. Not till you have helped me fulfill all I have waited for. _

He pondered the news Brûyn had brought him with a grim face. But as he did, he slowly came to a realization that gave him an unexpected and twisted sense of pleasure.

_Well, well, elf prince, _he said to himself, _I think your injury will actually aid rather than hinder my plans after all. This turn in events may be to my advantage. _

Much to Brûyn's surprise, his master took in a deep breath and almost smiled. Nodding at some decision he had made known only to his own mind, Sarambaq made tentative plans. If the elf lived, he would be suffering from the effects of the poison soon. He would be unconscious for a while yet. That gave him enough time to tend to his steed which lay hurt and screeching on the flat rock above. It was dangerous in its present state of pain, for it would suffer no one but its master to even approach him, so none of the other men would go within twenty yards of its talons. No, he could not leave the beast yet, but he would use the time to think through the next step in his plan of vengeance.

Snapping out a crisp order to keep the elf guarded at all times and to bring him and his weapons back to the caves as soon as possible, he strode back assertively to the stairs in the rock face that would take him to his wounded beast.

* * *

"Close your trap, moaning will do you no good," Närum said roughly to one of the wounded Adhûnians as he attempted to staunch the blood from a gash in the man's thigh.

He looked around at the group of them who had narrowly escaped death from Legolas' sharp knives. He could not afford to appear soft, but in his heart, he felt sorry for them, for they were his countrymen, and like him, they were all subject to the poor treatment they were forced to endure from the master they feared. Deep down, he was discontented with Sarambaq for caring so little for the men who served him. The self-centered master would spare all his efforts and medicines to keep the elf alive for his personal vengeance, but not his men.

_How am I going to help these wounded fellows? _he wondered bitterly. A shout in the distance brought his head up.

"Someone is coming!"

Närum was instantly alert. Few, if any, strangers rode this way, but his momentary panic was slightly quelled when he saw a lone man and a horse approaching the area at a slow canter. Even from a distance, the chestnut stallion looked beautiful, putting its travel-worn and scruffy rider to shame. The duo was heading towards some men who were moving the bodies of the dead to a burial site. The demeanor of the man and the pace at which he was riding did not hint at a threat, but they still had to be cautious.

"Draw your blades!" Närum shouted to the men closest to the approach, and hurried to finish applying a rough wad to the wound he was working on.

Two dull-looking men were the first to halt Aragorn and Rallias in their path, brandishing their coarse blades. Aragorn held one hand up in a gesture of peace even before he reached them.

"Who goes there?" the stouter of the men challenged.

"Peace, I am merely a traveler," Aragorn replied, schooling his features to feign indifference. "I mean no harm."

"Traveling? Where to?" Suspicion filled the question.

"Nowhere. Anywhere," the Ranger replied carefully.

The two men looked at each other, not knowing what to make of the answer. Seeing their confusion, he added, "I look for a place to settle."

"Well, stay where you are till our chief comes," the stout one said, not knowing how else to react. He wished Närum would get here quickly.

Controlling his emotions, Aragorn complied and cast his eyes over the scene, looking for a specific face. Dead men lay nearby, waiting to be buried. _Most likely the handiwork of Legolas_, he thought. The wounded were being tended to further away, from which direction a taller figure was now walking briskly. Legolas must be there, the Ranger thought, his heart beating more rapidly at the thought and wishing to be at the elf's side that very instant. Was this man approaching them Sarambaq? He dearly wanted to know, but that question could wait. Getting to Legolas was paramount.

Putting his plan into motion, Aragorn said to the two men: "You have many wounded. Was there a fight?"

"Not your concern," came the terse reply.

"I can help," the Ranger offered, wishing to do just the opposite. He would dearly love to cut off the heads of those who had brought harm to his friend. But he had to keep his revulsion from his voice. "I'm an apothecary."

The dull looks on the two men grew even duller, if that was possible. An apothecary? They looked at each other again. The stout one made to question Aragorn further, but Närum's voice cut in.

"What's going on?" he bellowed, striding up to them, sword in hand.

"About time you got here, Närum," the stout man turned to greet his leader.

_Not Sarambaq_, Aragorn concluded.

"He says he's a traveler," the stout one reported.

"And he has a pot to carry," the other man chipped in, eager to contribute.

Both Aragorn and Närum's heads turned instantly to him.

"What?" Närum asked, his brows furrowed. Aragorn almost laughed despite the gravity of the situation.

"Aye, aye, that's what he said," the stout one agreed, not wanting to be outdone. He looked back at Aragorn. "What pot do you carry, eh?"

Närum's eyes roamed over Aragorn's dirty clothes and boots and his untidy hair, some of which hung in limp strands over his eyes, unaware of how carefully the Ranger had allowed them to fall there so that no one would read his real emotions in the grey orbs when he spoke.

"I carry no pot," he responded, hiding a smirk, for it would do no good to offend them. He addressed Närum. "I'm a… a healer."

Närum narrowed his eyes. "You do not look like a healer."

Aragorn grinned crookedly. _In my present state, I do not look like the King of Gondor either, _he thought, but some kind of answer was necessary. "I have been a wanderer more than a healer for the past few weeks. I know not the source of your troubles here, but I have healing herbs for your wounded, and I can look for more. In return for aiding you, perhaps I can get some food and shelter."

This seemed too opportune, Närum thought. His hand remained on his sword.

"How come you to be here?" he queried. "This land receives few strangers."

"Oh, is this your land?" The surprise in Aragorn's voice was not totally contrived. "I am simply looking for a new place to settle. I have – I have left my home. Or what was my home."

"Where?"

Aragorn paused to gather courage for his next words, which would be the first of many necessary falsehoods. With a silent apology to Eomèr, he injected as much feigned bitterness into his voice as he could as he answered: "Rohan. I am no longer welcome there."

"Why?"

Another pause and more bitterness. "Banished. I am in exile. I was accused of treason to the king."

Unexpectedly, his hesitation worked to his advantage as it was taken as reluctance to reveal the reasons for his departure from Rohan. Aragorn prayed he could keep the details of his fabricated story consistent. He thought that such a crime might sit well with Sarambaq if he should end up confronting him. He had chosen Rohan as the setting because he thought the Adhûnians would know less about Rohan than Gondor, and thus might he safely weave his tale. For a fleeting moment, he was thankful that it was not Legolas who had to tell these untruths, for he would fare poorly.

It was Närum who showed surprise now. He studied Aragorn again. A healer? Accused of treason? He must have been part of some nobility, for the man was unable to hide his straight bearing, but he looked unkempt enough to have been traveling for many days. He needed to know more. "What was your crime?"

"Like I said: treason. _Accused_ of treason, mind you," the Ranger said firmly, studying their faces. "How much do you know of Rohan?"

"Hardly anything," said the stout man, who had been listening with great interest. Närum cast him a look that would have shriveled an orc. The man had just told Aragorn of their ignorance. The Ranger was secretly pleased.

"I was an apotheca – a healer – in the King's Houses," he continued with greater confidence, with another silent apology to Eomèr. "My herbs failed to save the life of one of his kin. He was already too ill, but I was accused of treason by his advisor, a witless worm." As Aragorn articulated the words Gandalf had used to describe Grima Wormtongue who had poisoned the late King Theoden's mind with his counsel before the Quest, he smiled inwardly. But what his face displayed were discontent and resentment. "Power can do strange things to those who wield it."

His last words seemed to touch a chord in Närum, whose thoughts flashed back to the wounded elf and men lying not far away. To Aragorn's relief, the man muttered something that sounded like: "Well do I know it." The Adhûnian ran his eyes over Aragorn again. A healer in the King's court. That would explain his air of assurance. But suspicion flared again as he threw the Ranger another question, his sword still unsheathed: "You must have seen this… mess… from afar," he waved his hand over the scene, "why did you still choose to ride here?"

Aragorn ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, forced a sigh of exasperation, and raised one eyebrow in a humorless face. "I have been wrongfully banished from Rohan, chased through Gondor, for they are allies, and am in danger of being lynched by over-zealous supporters of the king. I have nowhere else to go, and naught to lose by riding into a strange place under strange circumstances, for I run from a fate so ill and dismal that I care little what lies ahead, save there be food and shelter for me."

Närum was silenced by this speech. But another doubt lingered as his eyes roamed over Rallias. The horse seemed too fine…

"I stole it," Aragorn lied, anticipating his question, and thankful that he had thought to hide Anduril from ready sight before he left the forest. "I felt it was owed to me. I have naught else, as you can see."

That explanation and apparent confession seemed to satisfy Närum, for indeed, the man was lightly equipped. Whether this man needed a new home, and whatever he had done before, Närum thought, he now possessed something that was sorely needed: healing skills and herbs.

A screech of pained fury from the forest punctuated the silence, astonishing Aragorn and reminding the men of the foul mood Sarambaq would be in right now with his steed injured, as well as the wrath that was certain to erupt when he knew about the tenuous fate of the elf prince.

Närum made a quick decision.

"I will be watching you," he warned the Ranger sternly, drawing his sword and pointing it at Aragorn, "but if you can help the wounded as you say, and if you are as desperate to find a new home, we will see what can be done. No false moves, mind you, or you will pay. We do not take kindly to strangers."

Aragorn nodded, suppressing an urge to ask about the source of the screech, conscious of the more urgent need to see Legolas. With Närum watching his every move at sword point, he dismounted and led Rallias to where the wounded lay, grateful for the long strides the Adhûnian himself took.

The Ranger's feet seemed to move of their own accord as they neared the group of men. Pöras and several others who had been tending to their companions now stood and moved toward them at their approach, eyeing him suspiciously. Without breaking their stride, Aragorn heard Närum explain to them who he was, and concluded that none of them were Sarambaq.

He heard someone mumble something about a fever having set in. Those words made him scan the prone figures more urgently. He breathed a continuous prayer that Legolas would be the first person to whom he was taken.

The answer to his prayer came when Närum pushed him toward a particular spot and the sight of long, golden hair came into view. He drew in a sharp breath, hoping no one would have noticed it.

It seemed an eternity before they reached the one he had come so far to find, but they finally did. Aragorn had to keep himself from running to the prone figure and wrapping his arms around it when the closed eyes in the familiar elven face silently greeted him at last. Drawing nearer, his own eyes took in the multiple small lacerations and the bloody tunic and shirt that had been torn open to reveal the equally bloody bandage covering a larger wound, and his hands longed to slaughter every Adhûnian in sight. But he clenched his fists and controlled himself.

Studying the elf's face quickly, he saw that it was flushed, with a faint sheen of perspiration on it. Just as Eldarion's had been, from the healers' account. His sharp eyes noticed the bluish mark on the left side of the neck and what looked like a puncture point.

_Poison._ _Oh Eru, they must have shot him full of poison like they did Eldarion. With the poison and that wound…_

Aragorn's suddenly constricted throat checked a cry of distress that was threatening to leave it. He knelt quickly as a concerned healer would, and touched the brow of the friend he loved, trying not to let the tremble in his hand give away his true emotions.

The elf's brow was hot to the touch, but never had the feel of a feverish brow been more precious or more welcome to the Ranger, for it told him that Legolas was truly still alive. So deep was the desire to hear his friend speak again that he almost called out to him, but he stopped himself just before uttering the name. Pushing down his anger and desperation, he sought a solution, and an idea took shape in his mind.

He pretended to peer more closely at the elf, sculpting his features into a look of surprise. Feigning ignorance, he asked the men around him: "This is an elf. What is his name?"

The men looked at each other and shrugged. "He is just the elf prince to us," one of them volunteered before Närum stopped him with a snarl and a glare. He still preferred to exercise caution around the healer.

"Ah, as I thought," Aragorn said, nodding. "I have seen this one before. He came to Rohan during the Quest. His name is Legolas."

The name was repeated in a murmur that ran through the group of men as they waited to see what the healer would do next. No one seemed suspicious over his knowledge of the elf's name, and Aragorn breathed in relief.

Painfully aware that he must not alarm the Adhûnians or amplify their suspicion of him, and yet longing to affirm to himself that his friend's heart was indeed beating, he knelt before the still figure and held the wrist of a long, slender hand. The feel of it, so real now, so warm, almost made him lose all control, and shed all pretence. Legolas _was_ alive, and it was all he could do to not pick his friend up in his arms.

But he had to remain calm and provide Legolas with what he needed most urgently: his hands, for the hands of a King were the hands of a healer. Aragorn felt for the pulse, and found it racing as the elf's body tried to counter the poison.

Gritting his teeth, he forced out a measured question: "He looks bad. Is there poison in him?"

All the Adhûnians nodded, and Pöras looked irritated.

"I treat him first then," Aragorn stated. "He has to fight both the poison and a bad wound."

He dared not imagine what he would have done if he had been refused, but to his relief, both Närum and Pöras nodded, joined by their companions. Their own well-being depended on this elf's staying alive, and Aragorn sensed that subtle concern.

Aragorn spared only moments fetching his water skin and the bag of herbs and clean bandages from his saddle before he was kneeling by the elf again. His mind working swiftly, he looked up at the Adhûnians who had gathered around him and said, "Make a fire and boil clean water. Find as many clean garments as you can for bandages. There are many to treat and we have much work to do."

As Närum's attention was turned to issuing orders and Pöras began to organize the men, Aragorn shrewdly took the opportunity to bend down, place a comforting hand on his friend's fevered cheek and discreetly whisper Sindarin words into the elven ear.

* * *

Fighting to rise to the surface of an unfamiliar, hot, painful liquid haze that was threatening to drown him, Legolas heard a soft voice: a voice that had, in some distant nightmare, taken the form of a fiery spear aimed at him, but which was now weaving itself into a strong lifeline to which he could cling, to which he was being asked to cling. Even in his fevered delirium, he reached and held on desperately to that lifeline - a familiar voice that was warm and deep with love, a voice full of pleading and promise whispering a string of elvish words:

_Stay with me, dearest friend. I am here, and I will not leave you. _


	22. The King and the Healer

**_Note to reviewers_**:

My thanks to all who appreciated Aragorn's emotions, plan, and reunion with Legolas:

_**Templa Otmena, Kelsey Estel, Deana, Ali64, Slayer3, AM, Booklover Fanatic **(tsk, tsk, don't get caught, lol),** Sabrina**, **Star-stallion, Shadowfax2931, lola, Kirsten,** **Ithil-valon, lindahoyland, eliza61 **("Elf-owies"? What a delightful term! But bear with me still…), **kukumalu **(Sweet of you to fear for Aragorn, butBrûyn never met him; it was Ködil in the dungeons of the White City. Rest easy… for the moment.) _

_**Viggomaniac: **First - you may not have reviewed frequently before, but you are doing so now with a vengeance; thank you so much for your support and observations re the characters. Second – I was wrong about author notification; there are stats to show if writers are on 'lists', I just never checked. Don't know how accurate the stats are though, coz some don't show up. _

_**Ithilien: **If you're reading this, you would have caught up. Thank you for all your reviews – and I'm glad you appreciate my taking time to develop the characters although I know that readers who want 'action' to develop faster may shy away. _

**_Lyn_**: _Glad you enjoyed Chap 19, and thank you for the kind review. Hmm… your remark re the phrase "even now… strong hands" made me think, but many instances of redundancy are employed in writing for the achievement of style and richness of detail, as in the '(obviously) green, green grass of home' rather than the 'grass of home'. I included the phrase to (i) emphasize the point that the bow of Lothlorien used at Sarn Gebir was the one in his hands at the present moment, and (ii) paint for the reader a mental picture of the effort involved in drawing such a bow and hitting a flying target. So…I rather like it there, but I thank you for your suggestion, as it made me reflect on my choice of words._

_**Kestrel of Valinor**: I just realized I never acknowledged the review you left many chapters ago; it was truly inadvertent – and if you're reading this, please accept belated thanks and apologies._

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CHAPTER 22: THE KING AND THE HEALER

The afternoon wore on as Aragorn worked wearily with the wounded on the plain and everyone waited for the litters to be made ready. Someone had ridden back to the caves and brought pots for boiling water, as well as bowls and a spoon for Aragorn.

The Ranger's attention was focused on the elf, thankfully without objection. After applying a clean bandage to Legolas' wound, closing it as best as he could without proper equipment at hand, he treated all the other small cuts he had received, then dressed his friend in a fresh shirt retrieved from the elf's own pack found on the dead horse.

While waiting for water to boil, he questioned Närum about the kind of poison that had been used to bring the elf down, and was given the answer he had expected: the same _ipo _poison that had gone into Eldarion. The substance, according to the healers in the City, was not usually used to kill, only to incapacitate, Aragorn told himself. _Not usually used to kill. _Yet, there was one concern he could not ignore. He was almost afraid to ask the question, but he had to know:

"How much did you use?"

Several men who had heard the query grimaced, and Närum set his lips in a grim line, sending a fresh ripple of fear through Aragorn. When no one spoke, Aragorn pressed the question again, his tone louder and more insistent this time. "How much?"

"One dart would have been enough," Närum stated hesitantly. At Aragorn's quizzical look, he continued: "Enough to make him go numb, knock him out."

Aragorn waited, for the man obviously had more to say.

"Aaah, just tell him we doubled it!" Pöras interrupted abruptly, stepping up to them. "Have you no mettle to face the truth, you cowards? We shot two into him, healer – two. And if that is too much for the elf's body – not much substance on him anyway – that is just too bad."

Aragorn entertained the pleasurable thought of obliterating the scowl from his face, and perhaps even the face itself, but Närum, turning on his countryman and shoving him in the shoulder, was quicker.

"I told you once to shut up, Pöras! Don't make me show you how!" he growled.

Pöras snarled and looked ready to retaliate, but at the glares from all the other men, he changed his mind and retreated. "Gah! All this worry about the elf," he muttered and stalked off in a huff.

Aragorn was now both furious and anxious. He had seen what the small amount of poison from just the tip of a dart had done to Eldarion, but from the looks of the puncture wounds on Legolas, he must have had about eight to ten times that quantity from two fully embedded darts enter his blood. Even though he was a full-grown elf, it was hard to foretell the harm that much _ipo _would wreak on his body. This was not a substance Aragorn was familiar with; he did not know how it would affect elves, and the ignorance only caused his worry to mount.

"Is there something he can take to quell the poison?" he demanded.

"Not that we know of," Närum replied gruffly, frustrated at his companion's behavior and the whole predicament they were in.

Aragorn blew out a breath of frustration himself, and he felt lost, for he had never seen Legolas so helpless. He feared whether the elf's body could deal with a strange poison as well as the threat from a wound that could fester. Perhaps an elf would be more resistant to the poison, perhaps not. Regardless of the effect, he had to control his fear, for Legolas would need him to be strong. Suppressing a feeling of helplessness, he calmly performed all the tasks he thought might help the elf battle the poison.

When water had been boiled, he steeped fever-reducing herbs to make tea. While waiting for the tea to be ready, he crushed _athelas _in hot water, letting the therapeutic aroma of the herb soothe and refresh both his patient's and his own tired body. The Adhûnians nearby were pleasantly surprised by a clean scent that permeated the air, and which seemed to them as pure and unsullied as a new-born babe or a fresh fall of snow. The Ranger let the vapor waft around Legolas' face, sure that the elf would be breathing it in. Legolas still did not wake, and the fever did not break, but his breathing became easier.

_Perhaps this is enough for now, _Aragorn thought sadly. _It is enough that he is still breathing. _

When the tea was ready, the Ranger sat, carefully raised his friend and rested the head on his own shoulder, holding the elf's chin with one hand so that he could slowly feed him the tea, painstakingly cooling each spoonful and waiting for each small amount to slide down the throat and be reflexively swallowed before inserting the next mouthful. After each cup of tea, he bathed the hot brow and body with the water in which _athelas_ had been crushed, now cooled. More than once that afternoon, he breathed silent thanks to the elves of Ithilien for the herbs and clean lint they had had the great foresight to supply.

For the sake of appearances, he called aloud to the elf in a neutral tone, trying to wake him. But whenever the golden head was resting on him and a delicately shaped ear close enough to his lips, he whispered soft pleas as well as words of comfort and assurance, hoping that they would reach the elven mind in some way.

In between bouts of feeding Legolas the tea, Aragorn had to keep up his charade by tending to the others as well, although he quietly kept hidden some of the herbs and clean lint Legolas would need later, using only what he thought he could spare for the others. A few of the uninjured men assisted in applying the poultices he had prepared, but he still had to check on their efforts, and he abhorred each moment away from the one he should be looking after. The further away he was from his friend, the more hurried was his examination of each Adhûnian, and the more anxious he was to finish with all of them. Reluctantly treating wound after wound, his mind and eyes were ever on the golden-haired figure, watching for the first stirrings of recovery.

The Ranger hated each act of pretence, and yet, even as he pondered the irony of having to administer healing to the very men who had brought the elf down, the healer in him and the elvish blood in his own veins would not let the helpless wounded die in cold blood. Even after defeating Sauron's forces before the Black Gates, he had felt compelled to give his conquered foes another chance to redeem themselves. Such was the nobility of the Númenórean line that had pleased Eru before pride and greed destroyed its splendour, but in Aragorn, that heritage lived and thrived again.

Närum had kept a close eye on Aragorn's movements at first, but relaxed a little after he observed the gentle healer's hands at work, silently noting how the stranger ignored his own tiredness to care for those who needed him. Silently, too, he realized how Sarambaq could not be any more different from this healer in his treatment of the men. All this Närum saw and kept in his warrior's heart.

Brûyn had returned to the plain at some point, and was pleased to learn of the opportune arrival of a healer, although he simply could not understand what pot Aragorn carried, no matter how hard the two men who had first met Aragorn tried to explain. His companions quickly fashioned some litters and began the first of several trips to bear the wounded who had been treated back to the caves. Since Aragorn had to continue tending to the others, Närum readily agreed that the elf should also remain with the healer till his work was finished.

Aragorn noticed immediately that Brûyn was as loose with his tongue as Närum was cautious. Discreetly, he listened to the man's prattle, and learnt that Sarambaq was none too pleased at Legolas' condition but was too occupied with tending to his beast to ride here. An occasional screech from the direction of the woods provided evidence of Sarambaq's labor. The men's discussion of the day's earlier events painted a picture of what had happened to his friend before he arrived. Aragorn had quickly spotted the body of Aérodel earlier, but he learnt now how the horse had met its demise, and he sighed in sorrow for the elf, knowing how keenly the Firstborn would lament that loss.

The clouds that had blocked out the sun for much of the day were now gathering as a low heavy mass in the sky, threatening them with a downpour. Aragorn had treated the last of some twenty survivors of Legolas' knives and was hurrying his weary feet in the direction of the elf. Preoccupied with reminding himself, not for the first time, just how dangerous a cornered and skilled Firstborn could be, he almost walked into Närum, who abruptly stepped into his path to halt him.

"What is your name?" the man asked him gruffly.

Aragorn was genuinely taken aback, too tired to fully register the query at first. Thankfully, he managed to blurt out the first Rohan name, other than the well-known ones, that crossed his mind: "Hama." As Aragorn uttered the name, he paid his silent respects to the captain of Rohan who had been killed defending the realm's stronghold against Saruman's attack during the Quest.

"Hama," Närum repeated the name softly, studying the Ranger's weary face. "Thank you."

Aragorn was again taken aback at this unexpected expression of gratitude from the Adhûnian, but he knew at once what he was being thanked for. Fleetingly, he recalled his conversation with Faramir in the White City, about how men in a battle, whichever side they fought on, had people for whom they cared. The Ranger still seethed with fury over the hurts Legolas had received, but a small voice in him said that these men were perhaps no better than pawns in Sarambaq's game, and Aragorn was sure that the elf himself would have held the same belief. Had they actually killed his friend, his reaction might have been very different, but now he merely nodded his acceptance of Närum's thanks.

Any other words they might have exchanged were left unsaid when they heard the man who had been watching Legolas call out suddenly: "He wakes!"

This time, Aragorn could not stop himself from covering the distance in long, running strides to drop to the ground on his knees, his eyes never leaving the prone figure he had placed on a clean blanket. The elf had indeed stirred, causing Aragorn's heart to give a small leap of joy, but the elven eyes were still closed, and the flushed face grimaced with pain and great discomfort as a soft moan escaped his lips and his hands moved to clutch at whatever they could reach. Aragorn held them still by gripping them gently. Anxiety dampened his relief, for this waking was not yet one of recovery, and the fever, while it raged no longer, still held the elf in its hot grasp.

Legolas' lips moved, mumbling incoherently, and Aragorn called to him, aware of the Adhûnians around him: "Awake, Prince Legolas."

But all he could hear from the elf's lips were three sounds that he kept repeating. Aragorn listened carefully, placing his ears close to the warm lips, his brow furrowed. Then his eyes glazed with moisture and his heart filled with sorrow as he finally recognized the words Legolas were trying to articulate:

_Stay. Away. Estel._

The Ranger swallowed and blinked back a tear. Even in this state, all the elf could think about was the safety of his human friend. Aragorn tightened his grasp on the warm, pale hands, hiding his true emotions as best as he could as he called the elven name over and over. To his disappointment, the elf lapsed back into unconsciousness.

_Eldarion took a day to wake, and the amount of poison in him was far less, even for a child, _the Ranger remembered in an effort to quell his own apprehension_. Give him time._

"What did he say?" Brûyn demanded.

"It was difficult to determine," Aragorn replied vaguely.

He was saved from further questioning by the arrival of a horseman who rode up to Närum and spoke to him. From the corner of his eye, Aragorn saw a look of annoyance cross Närum's face. Then the man barked out: "Orders from Sarambaq: we have to move everyone back to the caves now!"

_Just in time, _Aragorn thought, feeling the increase in wind strength and sighing in relief that his patient would be sheltered from what promised to be a storm.

All the wounded were quickly placed on the litters or on horseback if they could sit. Legolas was also borne on a litter, and Aragorn did not encounter objection when he insisted on walking beside him, still playing on the men's fear over the consequences if the elf did not survive. The men were, in addition, too exhausted to care about where he walked. Aragorn cast a last look back at the body of Legolas' horse in the distance, not knowing what its fate would be, and said a silent farewell before they set off. Rallias walked obediently beside him, bearing his and Legolas' few belongings.

As they made their way towards the woods, Aragorn studied their surroundings. Escape was out of the question for the moment, but he had no doubt they would have to attempt something once Legolas was able to walk or ride. Unless – and this was Aragorn's hope – help from Ithilien and Gondor came first. The Ranger could plan no further than getting Legolas back on his feet, for he had no knowledge of Sarambaq's plans.

The walk to the caves was uneventful, save for someone losing their grip on one of the handles of the other litters and almost dropping the injured man on it, at which point Aragorn's ears were introduced to a decidedly colorful Adhûnian curse that involved more than one body part. The retort, which identified the first speaker's body parts and ancestors in turn, was no less passionate, drawing guffaws from the speakers' companions and a small chuckle from Aragorn, who wished Legolas had been able to hear the exchange as well. Looking down at his silent friend, his hand gently moved stray strands of blonde hair away from the flushed face and adjusted the wet cloth on the hot brow, noting the warmth that still clung to the elf and parched his lips.

_Please, my friend, awake soon. Let your body be healed, let my heart be eased, _he pleaded silently.

But silence was all he received in response.


	23. The Touch of Numenor

**_Important Note_**:

After posting Chapter 22 yesterday, I decided that it was too long, so I have split it in two – this new post (chapter 23) is therefore the second half of that chapter.

**To all those who already read the previous longer version of Chap 22 – and reviewed, no less! – please accept my deepest apologies. **Maybe you can re-read this : )

* * *

CHAPTER 23: THE TOUCH OF NÚMENÓR

The first drops of rain fell on the tired faces of the Adhûnians and the Ranger as they trod wearily along a rough path through the thick woods, bearing their wounded. At the end of it, Aragorn was greeted with his first sight of the rock that was the Table.

Despite the circumstances, Aragorn was a little amazed at this interesting outcrop of rock and the caves hewn out of its base. A loud, piercing screech told him that the beast must be perched atop that rock. He was curious to see what it looked like, this product of a cruel union between what was once a noble creature of the air and a foul beast of destruction. But more than the sight of the flying fiend, what Aragorn wanted – both wanted and dreaded – to see was the despicable face of Sarambaq, the one who had set all the events of the past week in motion. The thought made him place a comforting hand on his elf friend in an unconscious protective gesture.

He pushed his feelings of disgust aside for the moment, however, focusing instead on Legolas' needs. Aragorn did not see where the other wounded men were taken, but on his carefully phrased advice, Närum had ordered that they be brought to a cave with easy access to water, for the fever had not yet left the elf's body. They were thus taken to a small but smooth-floored cave close to but separate from the main rock. Even in the gathering dark, Aragorn could see that trees and undergrowth grew on top of the cave. They entered the cave not a moment too soon, for the onslaught of rain caught them by surprise; it was as a massive issue from a dam, suddenly released, that pounded mercilessly upon earth, rock and tree.

Working against the rain pelting his face, Aragorn removed his belongings from Rallias after being assured that the horse would be sheltered with the others in a make-shift stable rigged by the Adhûnians. Among the things he brought in was Anduril, which he had wrapped loosely in blankets and a cloak so that its shape would be indistinct. Laying his bundle down, he peered around the inside of the cave. The Ranger was surprised to find a steady and strong trickle of water flowing down from some fissure in the ceiling, collecting in a basin-like depression in a ledge protruding from the cave wall, gouged out of the rock by thousands of years of the descent of the water. The water then flowed in a little rivulet out of the cave and into the woods outside. Someone brought in torches, kindling and wood – miraculously still dry despite the wet assault from the skies – to supply the cave with a feeble warmth but adequate light for the healer to work.

Aragorn moved Legolas from the litter himself and laid him gently on a blanket he had spread on the floor. As the Adhûnians were leaving with the litter, the Ranger moved quickly to hide his sword in the dark shadows near the back of the cave before returning to his friend. He had just removed the elf's boots when – even through the determined pounding of the rain – he heard the voice of Närum in dialogue with a commanding voice outside. Moments later, a tall figure appeared at the mouth of the cave, Närum standing just behind him, both shaking off the rain from their hooded cloaks.

Aragorn turned to look at him and knew instantly that this had to be Sarambaq. The Ranger, kneeling behind Legolas' head where he was arranging his small stash of herbs and linen, stilled his hands and kept his face expressionless as the two figures approached them slowly, the one in front fixing a hate-filled glare and smirk of satisfaction on the motionless elf. Sarambaq, his dark, wild hair framing a hard, angular face and malicious eyes, stopped beside the figure on the cave floor, planting his feet apart in a haughty stance and crossing his arms. The amber glow of the light from the torches played across his sharp features and lit his eyes with a demonic flame. The roar of the rain outside seemed to augment the dark aura he exuded.

Without warning, his boot lashed out to kick the still figure in his ribs – fortunately on the unwounded side – but the vicious move startled both Aragorn and Närum, and caused the elf's body to curl reflexively in pain. A hiss escaped Aragorn's lips and his hands flew up before he could stop them, but he quickly retracted them and dug his fingers into the flesh of his thighs to keep them from breaking the villain's knee caps. Sarambaq's head swiveled instantly to shoot him a fierce glare, and before he could bite his tongue, the Ranger stated aloud between clenched teeth: "That will not help him heal."

Närum threw him a look of caution, warning him to be silent.

"Watch your tongue!" Sarambaq spat out, and against his desire, Aragorn clamped his mouth shut and fisted his hands tightly, not for his own sake but for that of his helpless friend. He could not afford to antagonize the Adhûnians while Legolas lay easy victim to their whims.

Sarambaq tried to study the Ranger's face in the dim light of the torches, his eyes narrowed. For long moments, he scrutinized the features that Aragorn kept as expressionless as possible. Finally, Sarambaq raised his eyebrows arrogantly, and his lips curled in disdain when he spoke. "So – Hama – you're the healer."

The words were just discernable against the noise of the torrents slamming against the cave and ground outside, but Aragorn caught them and nodded, looking past Sarambaq at Närum, who appeared a little ill at ease. The Ranger guessed that his being brought here may not have met with the Master's complete approval.

"Tell me, _healer_," Sarambaq said haughtily and sarcastically, bringing Aragorn's attention back to himself. "Will the elf live?" The question was asked not in a tone of concern but of tense expectation, almost a challenge.

The Ranger considered his response carefully, for he wanted his reply to ensure his continued presence by the elf's side.

"He will if he receives proper and constant care," he answered in the controlled and informed tone of a healer, his words coming out perhaps a little more timidly than he intended.

Sarambaq snorted. "Then _you _will provide it!" he commanded sternly, pouncing on the apparent trepidation his presence inflicted on the Ranger. "And you will make sure he survives. You will look after him all night if you have to."

Aragorn said nothing, surprised but secretly pleased with the way the situation was developing in his favor. He remained mute and unmoving when Sarambaq stepped closer to tower above the Ranger's kneeling form, curling his lips and issuing his final words of warning for the night in a low, measured voice, hardly audible above the drone of the downpour outside:

"If he dies, healer, you will answer for it. And you will find the exile that Rohan imposed on you a kind punishment."

Aragorn hid his anger and disgust behind a curtain of feigned fear on his face, and earned a fleeting look of sympathy from Närum. The next instant, however, Sarambaq's scorn was for the Adhûnian himself.

"You brought him here, you will be responsible for him," he charged his subordinate. "Make sure he does his job."

Närum's face was impassive now as he nodded and threw another look at the Ranger. Sarambaq then turned his eyes back to Legolas and sneered. Aragorn tensed. If the monster kicked the elf again, he did not know if he would be able to stop a retaliatory attack on the knees this time.

Fortunately, Sarambaq turned abruptly on his heels, pulled up his hood and walked out into the dark, watery night. Närum cast Aragorn a final, wordless look before he growled something to the two men guarding the entrance of the cave and left in the same direction as his master. One of them followed on his heels and the remaining guard, armed with a rough scimitar, sat on the floor near the cave mouth, looking dully at the rain.

Aragorn immediately pulled up Legolas' shirt to see the damage from the cruel kick and found what had to be a painful bruise which would turn blue-black later, but nothing worse. He sighed with sympathy for his friend as he studied the closed eyes in the fair face.

_Ai, Legolas, I am so sorry for the pain you must be in now_, he said silently_. Forgive me for failing to shield you from his brutality. _

Not wishing to dwell futilely on things that could not be undone, he checked the wound on the elf's body and was pleased to see that the bleeding had largely stopped. He applied a fresh poultice, changed the bandage, and placed another wet fold of cloth on the elf's brow.

The guard returned then and shoved a plate into his hands. It contained some stale bread and dried meat on which rainwater had splattered, but to the Ranger, who had not realized how long ago it had been since he last ate and was suddenly famished, it seemed like a feast. The two guards sat eating their own meals, looking out into the wet darkness, too tired to pay attention to the people within.

_Finally_, Aragorn sighed inwardly.

With the two sleepy guards at the cave entrance, he felt he could – even if for a while – shed himself of the cautious physical and emotional cloak he had had to wear since mid-day. For tonight at least, he hoped, he would not have to keep such a tight rein on his feelings and his tongue, and he would be able to speak more freely to his friend, greatly thankful for the cover that the noise of the downpour would provide.

After his simple meal, he leaned his exhausted body against the cave wall and closed his eyes for a short and much-needed reprieve. But he soon stirred again to carefully lift and recline Legolas against his chest once more, to resume bathing the fever-ridden brow and body with cool water from the basin in the cave, and to feed the elf the last of the fever-reducing tea he had prepared earlier. After the last spoonful, the Ranger yielded to his aching body and his anxiety, lay his head back on the comfortless stone wall, and simply sat holding the silent form as his mind agonized over the uncertainty of Legolas' recovery. The wound did not seem to be getting worse, but was the elf's body coping with the poison?

_Have I done enough? Ai, Legolas, what else should I do? _

He lost all notion of time as he continued to beg Legolas to return to the conscious world, speaking again and again into the elven ears.

_Please speak, my friend. One word, just one word to show me you are coming back._

The earlier events of the day had not spared him time to fully appreciate the consequences of what was happening to Legolas, but now that he could think about them, he felt a little frightened, mainly because he still did not know enough about the strength of the poison, or of Sarambaq's plans, or how long the Adhûnians intended to keep Legolas here. He thought then about Arwen and Eldarion and prayed they were safe. How he missed them, yet he knew that as long as Sarambaqheld the elf, he himself would not leave.

_Please, Legolas, awake. I do not know what Sarambaq has in mind for you, but your life is in great danger. If we do not attempt something soon, I cannot imagine what he will do to you._

And what about Thranduil? And the elves of Ithilien? They would no doubt be victims of some trap as well if they followed the trail of the Ranger and the elf.

_Your father and your kin need for you to live, Legolas. Please come back so we can leave, or at least think about what to do._

Unconsciously, he massaged the elf's much-too-warm hands as if that would help his message get across. The pulse at his wrist was still too fast, too rapid to suggest he was combating the poison successfully.

_Please, my friend, fight this affliction. Come back to us, come back to me. _

But despite his heartfelt pleas, muteness was his only answer. The feeble glow from the torches, coupled with the flat tone of the rain, added to the depressing mood in the cave, and made Aragorn think of the Fellowship's journey through Moria: a cold, wet and dark trek that cast little light and brought little hope. He could not see the end of their road then, and he could not see the end of this one now.

Far from aid and friendly support, and in a moment of total exhaustion when his spirit seemed unable to rise above a feeling of helplessness, the Ranger buried his head against the elf's shoulder, not caring any more whether the guards saw him. And the King of Gondor, who had been under a constant weight of care for months, who had quaked at the sight of his unmoving son but a few days past, succumbed helplessly now to his sorrow, suddenly afraid that Legolas' life was slipping away in slow surrender to a cruel poison, sorrowed that a Firstborn son might be parted from his father, and grieved that he himself might not have the chance to atone for his careless words in the City that had led the elf here.

He did not know how long his head lay bowed, but when he raised it, the elf's shoulder was damp. A quick look at the two guards found them sitting against the cave walls as well, hugging themselves within their cloaks against the cold, their faces and postures spelling disinterest in everything except sleep, lulled by the gentle sound of the light rain.

Light rain? Aragorn blinked. The rain had eased considerably, but when? How long had he been sitting and holding Legolas?

Aragorn shook his head and lowered his friend gently back on the blanket, adjusting the wet cloth over the brow. He sat there gazing at the elven face for long moments, and his yearning to hear the fair voice and laughter cut him as deeply and keenly as a knife. He touched the cheek lightly.

_Legolas, _he said silently, _what I would not give to hear you speak again, my friend._

In the dismal atmosphere of the cave, he looked at his own hands, studying them, wondering, doubting, and remembering. Hardly had he used those hands for healing since the Quest, for there were healers in abundance in the White City.

But now he sighed and reached for two leaves of _athelas_. _I will do one more thing_, he decided as he wet them and bruised them with his determined fingers and between his palms so that their soothing fragrance once again permeated the air.

Then, Elessar Telcontar, Elfstone of his people, who had brought healing to so many unknown Gondorians during the Quest of the Ring, closed his eyes and hoped that his hands – the hands of a king – would now do the same for someone precious to him. Just as he had done ten years ago in the healing rooms of Minas Tirith, Aragorn placed hopeful hands on the brow and face of the still form as the voice of the bloodline of Númenór called softly but firmly to the elf to rise from the darkness of his affliction. Never had he prayed so hard to the Valar for their mercy and help with each passing moment as he channeled all his thought and spirit into the act. Once again, the passage of time held no sway on his mind.

But at last, he stopped, bent and exhausted from care, labor and lack of sleep. In the now silent cave, he spread another blanket, lay his tired form next to Legolas and whispered again into the pointed ear:

_I have done all I can for today, Legolas. Please wake soon. And when you do, you will find me here. _

Then, he abandoned all conscious thought and gave in to the need for deep rest. His final act before he closed his eyes to the world was to place a hand lightly on the elf's shoulder so that he would know if his friend awoke.

But four hours later, still cradled strongly within the arms of sleep, the Ranger's ears were deaf even to the storm that once again furiously claimed mastery over the land.

Neither was he aware that as the heavens inundated the rivers of the land with fierce torrents, another red, raging flood was subsiding, slowly ebbing away, and a submerged spirit that had fought strongly not to drown, clinging desperately to its lifeline, was finally rising from the churning depths to reach calmer waters and to draw breath.

* * *

In the darkest hour of the night, when all at the Table – save a few watchful guards – were asleep, a light moan was uttered through parched lips, inaudible against the loud, steady thrashing of liquid upon solid, which sharp ears detected and recognized after a few moments.

A pair of eyes cracked open painfully, warily, to see a dark, hazy world with slight shadows dancing diffidently around torches on stone walls. Slowly, the eyes focused, and moving wearily, they alighted on two blurry figures sitting near a modest fire some distance away, leaning limply against dimly lit walls, heads bowed.

A battered body shifted but a fraction of an inch, stopping when – despite the slight numbness – it became conscious of pain somewhere on its left side, a duller ache on its right, and soreness in its neck and limbs. Naught did it do for long moments except listen to its breath.

But then the ears caught the sound of another breath, and the heart within the fatigued body, moved by some inexplicable force, sensed something – someone – familiar, and close by, very close by. The mind, enshrouded in fog, struggled to understand, and a moment later, the heart whispered:

_Behold your lifeline. _

A head, feeling extremely heavy, turned slowly, laboriously but determinedly, to seek the rock to which the lifeline had been secured, the beacon by which the floundering spirit had been guided. Slender fingers, stiff and feeble, crept sideways to meet rough cloth, slid along its length to touch warm flesh on a calloused hand, and wrapped themselves weakly around their discovery.

The calloused hand jerked into awareness, and a face – with a light beard that framed lips parted slightly in surprise – appeared above. Startled grey eyes, groggy but quickly becoming awake, looked anxiously down into blue, wondering ones. The parched lips below parted weakly and croaked out a word so softly that it was heard only because of the proximity of the speaker:

"Estel."

A gasp came from the lips in the face above, and the hand of the healer urgently felt the brow and cheeks below it, brushing back the sweat-drenched hair to reassure itself of the coolness of flesh that announced the long-awaited breaking of a fever. As the blue eyes continued to watch in wonder, the grey eyes in the face above softened into tenderness, the lips widened a little, quivering in relief and joy, and strong arms gently slid beneath the prone form to clasp it in a warm embrace.

The Ranger buried his face in the golden hair, thanking every Valar that was ever created, and released his fears at last in strangled sobs and uneven breaths. But his tone was soaked with relief as he whispered shakily against the elven ear:

"Never has your voice sounded sweeter, _mellon nin_."


	24. Flight of Shadows

**_Note: _**

_My thanks to those who reviewed the last two chapters:_

_**AM, Deana, Star-Stallion, lindahoyland, Alis world, Ali64, Slayer 3, Armyn, elf771, Moe, Shadowfax, Snow-gloryeliza61, Shadowfax,** and **Sabrina**. Welcome, **Evergreene** (hope the kicks gave you great satisfaction) and **Rangerofthenorth **(thank you, I believe I have read that about Aragorn too, although he is still plagued by uncertainty, as evident from the choices he had to make after Frodo's departure from the Fellowship; he is a great man nonetheless.) **Angel** – hope you received what I sent._

_**Kelsey Estel**: Will Legolas be here? Read for yourself, mellon nin. _: )

The elvish used in this chapter has been borrowed from **_Deana's_** story _Tears of a Soul._ Thank you, Deana.

_**Methinks many of you may have been waiting for this chapter…as have I.**_

_**Savor.**_

_**Slowly.**_

* * *

CHAPTER 24: FLIGHT OF SHADOWS 

"Why are you here, Aragorn? How did we get here?"

As soon as the Ranger had released his friend from his embrace, the questions had come, catching the listener unawares. Despite the darkness of the cave, the look of distress in Legolas' blue eyes was clear as he voiced the questions feebly. But barely were the queries past the elf's lips before his breath hitched, his head began to swim and a retching sound escaped his throat.

In an instant, the bowl Aragorn had prepared for this eventuality was in place, and the elf began to retch painfully and uncontrollably, expelling what little was left in his stomach, his hands clutching tightly at his shirt. Aragorn held Legolas' golden hair back from his face and rubbed his back gently, murmuring soothing sounds.

A movement from the cave entrance caught Aragorn's attention. "Oy, what's going on back there?" a sleep-coated voice drawled.

"Nothing, the elf is just emptying his stomach," Aragorn replied calmly so as not to draw undue attention. "I can take care of it."

The guards seemed like they could not have cared less if Aragorn had told them the elf had grown another head. They muttered something inaudible and settled down again to sleep, clearly not expecting an unconscious elf to attempt escape, or a healer to do anything but treat wounds.

When Legolas had finished, he lay on his back again and closed his eyes, clearly spent. Aragorn fetched fresh water and gently cleaned his friend's face in silence, then propped the golden head up just high enough for the elf to rinse and drink a little.

"Better now?" the healer asked soothingly, and was relieved at the soft 'yes' murmured in response.

He took just a few minutes to walk past the sleepy, listless guards and out of the cave to clean the dirty bowl and linen in the rain, and return to Legolas' side. Peering closely at the elf's face, he called to him softly, and the look from the blue eyes satisfied him that his friend's discomfort was much less now. Speaking in whispers, he first warned Legolas that they had to talk discreetly, and then told him briefly where they were and who held them, knowing that the elf was familiar with the name of Sarambaq.

Legolas tried then to ask questions, but Aragorn hushed him, working silently and swiftly to replace the elf's shirt and leggings that were soaked with sweat expelled by the fevered body as it recovered. At the gentle rebuff, the elf relaxed and complied quietly when the Ranger checked his wound and bruise, and he did not resist when his friend covered him with a blanket and cloak to ward off the chill of the rainy night. But his blue eyes never left the man.

Now, as Aragorn propped him up and offered him more water, the elf stayed his hand. "Estel, you should not be here," he said, furrowing his brow. "I warned you away… did I not?"

The Ranger did not answer immediately, but laid his friend back down. Aragorn looked away from the blue eyes just long enough to confirm that the guards were either wandering in their dream worlds or too sleepy to care, and lay down again himself, placing his head close to the elf's so that their whispers would be safely drowned by the loud drone of the rain.

"Estel, are you all right? Did they…?" Legolas began again.

"Legolas, first tell me how _you _feel," the Ranger interrupted, exasperation in his voice.

The elf blinked as he considered the pain in various parts of his body and replied: "I hurt in a number of places, and I feel very tired – and a little dizzy – but that is all."

Aragorn gave a small snort. "That is all?" he asked, and even in the dark, his friend did not miss the gentle sarcasm in his voice or the incredulous look on his face. "By the Valar, Legolas, you have been slashed by blades, shot full of poison, and kicked in the ribs; you fought a raging fever, and for the better part of yesterday, I was not even sure when I would hear you speak again, _that is_ _all_!"

At the confused silence from Legolas, Aragorn sighed and briefly described how he had tracked him, witnessed his fall on the plain, and was now pretending to be Hama the healer in exile from Rohan. He finished his narration by admitting how worried he had been over the wound and the poison. "I think your body has expelled most of the poison now," he stated hopefully before clearing his throat and adding "although… with all the tea I fed you, I fear you might be visiting the woods often tomorrow to expel more. But at least you'll be able to walk then, I expect." He smiled in amusement, imagining his friend's embarrassment at realizing what Aragorn must have done for him all day. He anticipated the apology on the elf's lips and shook his head to stop it.

"No burden were you to me, dear friend," he said warmly, then gently whispered a confession: "but long were the hours of waiting, and for many of them, Legolas, I feared I would lose you."

The elf looked into the eyes of the Ranger, remembering the agony of his vague, hazy, fevered estrangement from the conscious world. Then he said simply: "I heard your voice."

Aragorn smiled. "I never stopped calling," he responded softly, holding his friend's gaze.

For a few moments, the two friends allowed themselves to reflect on the strength of that bond, their minds touching, needing no words to capture all that their hearts had to say.

Aragorn broke the silence first. "You came back," he said, "and now that you are awake, my heart is greatly eased, though you are still very weak and will need to rest. I will brook no argument on that score, Elf."

"And I will offer none, _Adan_," Legolas replied with a tired smile.

Aragorn chuckled lightly. "Are you warm enough?" he asked, and was pleased at the nod he received. "Then, if you feel up to talking, I would dearly like to know all that happened since you left Ithilien."

The elf seemed reluctant at first, but no longer saw any reason for withholding the information, so he narrated the events of his journey, beginning with a hesitant confession of the intentions that had driven him to make the trip, up to the battle he had fought. At that point, he halted suddenly as he recalled something, looking at Aragorn with wide eyes.

"Aérodel," he gasped, the memory hurting him. "You saw – ?"

Aragorn pressed a comforting hand to the elf's shoulder. "I imagine his death was quick, _mellon nin_, and few horses could be more heroic."

Legolas sighed and closed his eyes, and the Ranger gave him a few moments of silence, feeling miserable over the revelation he had yet to make to the elf. In addition to the loss of his beloved steed, his friend would soon have to learn the truth about Sarambaq's intentions.

"Aragorn…" the elf spoke again but faltered, his eyes still closed. The Ranger waited till he was ready to resume. "Aragorn, I could not… I set out to find out more about your foe, but I - I failed to do that, and now, because of me, you are here where you should not be…" His voice trailed off, and Aragorn could hardly hear his final lament: "Why did you come?"

"You need to ask me that, Legolas? You should know: I came for you."

"But you should not have. Sarambaq tried to take your son. This place is fraught with danger for you."

The Ranger sighed sadly, for he knew he could not put off the distressing news any longer. Clearing his throat a little, and keeping his hand on the elf's shoulder, he ventured nervously: "Legolas, there is something you need to know."

Something in the Ranger's tone – heard even above the roar of the rain – sent a small jolt of fear through the elf; he opened his eyes and gazed at Aragorn without blinking. Never releasing his comforting grip on his friend, and feeling more wretched with each word, Aragorn poured out everything that the prisoner in the White City had revealed, about the reason behind the attack on Ithilien and Sarambaq's true target. As he listened, Legolas' elvish face tensed first in shock, then hardened in fear and anger, for now he learnt that it was his own father who was in danger.

"I know not his plans in their entirety, Legolas, but I know he has malice and vengeance in mind," Aragorn finished, "and so, it is not I, but you who are in danger, my friend."

The elf's eyes widened. "_Adar!_ My father, does he…?"

"We sent out riders immediately, both from the City and Ithilien. Your people should reach him in a few days. Your father will be warned."

"He will come," the elf said in dismay. "He should not, but he will come."

"Hamille will try to stop him, Legolas. It is you we should be worried about."

"I cannot be held here, Aragorn!" the elf said frantically. "I worry not for myself, but for _Adar._ Sarambaq will lure him here, he – "

Aragorn hushed him gently, stealing a quick look at the guards. "Peace, Legolas. I understand. That is why we must think of how to prevent that. We have to escape as soon as you are able to ride, though I must confess I know not how or when yet."

Legolas lapsed into silence again, and all that was heard in the cave was the sound of the rain.

"Ten years," he mumbled at last, "Ten years of plotting revenge. How it must have eaten at his heart, darkening it."

Aragorn had no response to that, so he held his tongue.

"It is no wonder then that I sensed the shadows of Dol Guldur sitting on our prisoner like a dark cloak, and again as I neared this place," Legolas said in a dejected tone. "Oh, fool was I not to have seen it!"

"None of us knew, Legolas, do not berate yourself so," Aragorn countered.

The elf merely hissed and turned his face away, and Aragorn allowed him the time he needed to ponder the implications of all that was happening. The Ranger watched the flickering shadows on the cave walls as he waited. But when long moments had passed and still the elf did not speak or turn back to face him, he grew concerned.

"Legolas?" he queried softly, his hand tightening slightly on the shoulder.

When only silence greeted him, the Ranger's heart clenched in fear again, and he raised his head while reaching out to turn his friend's face back in his direction. For a moment, he stopped breathing when he saw that the elven eyes were closed, but exhaled in relief when he saw that the elf had not lost consciousness, for he was biting on his lower lip, holding back his emotions. The fair face was wet and the expression of regret on his face was heartbreaking.

The elf tried to turn his face away again, but Aragorn stopped him gently with a palm against his cheek. The Ranger said nothing, waiting for his friend to swallow what sounded like sobs so that he could speak.

A cough came from the direction of the cave entrance, and Aragorn turned to look at the guards, his body tensing. One of the guards shifted slightly as he readjusted his position against the wall; then his head bowed and he went still again. The Ranger relaxed and turned back to his friend.

"Oh, Eru…" the elf said at last in a low voice that started to shake, and he opened blue eyes glistening with moisture to look at his friend, the remorse in them twisting the Ranger's heart. "Estel, I am sorry, so sorry."

Aragorn's brows knitted in genuine surprise. "For what do you seek forgiveness?"

The anguish in Legolas' voice was palpable as he spoke between uneven breaths. "This evil plan was targeted at me, and at my father. It is bad enough that six of my kin – six good elves – died because of that, because he wanted me. But none of this…" and his voice broke then. "None of this should have touched you or your family. Eldarion… that child was hurt because I was the one being sought."

"Legolas..."

"Then I came here to seek your foe, but it was mine all along. And now – "

"Legolas, stop."

"I should not have come here on my own, and my foolish actions have brought you here into danger."

"You came to do something for _me_, Legolas!" Aragorn protested, taking care not to speak too loudly but wishing to emphasize the point. "And do not forget why you even came in the first place. It was because of my harsh words to you in the healing room that night – which is the reason I went to Ithilien to seek you out."

It was now Legolas who looked surprised and Aragorn who cast his eyes down. "No blame at all should I have laid on you for what happened to Eldarion, my friend. Since that night, every waking minute has been filled with my desire to seek your forgiveness. I went to Ithilien for that purpose."

"But it turned out that Eldarion did suffer on my account. The dart – "

"It matters not whom the dart hit," Aragorn interjected, looking at his friend with wide, firm eyes. "Do you not see, Legolas, even if it had really been meant for Eldarion, that would not change what you did. Even without knowing who the target was, you took care of my son and my wife with everything you had, and you risked your own life. In all of this, it is the vile actions of Sarambaq that are to blame, not you, and the only words that should have reached your ears were my words of gratitude."

Legolas was silent as he reflected on what Aragorn had said.

Aragorn took the elf's hand and held it tightly, closing his eyes as he voiced his heartfelt apology. "It was I who spoke foolishly in anger, _mellon nin_, and to my shame, I was so blind I could not see you were wounded, so that my careless hand added to your pain. I beg you to forgive me."

"I was distressed," Legolas said honestly, "but I have not held it against you. I have never held anything against you. Not even your words at Imla – " he stopped abruptly.

Aragorn furrowed his brows, puzzled. "What words?"

The elf did not answer, but looked away. Aragorn would not accept his mute response.

"What words, Legolas? What did you mean?" he demanded.

"They matter not, Estel."

"Yes, they do. If you remember them, they must matter. Now, tell me: what words?"

"They are nothing."

"Legolas, please…"

The elf sighed. The nightmare played in his mind again, and his next words were uttered so softly that Aragorn could not be certain he had heard them: "The folk of Thranduil failed your trust."

Aragorn was stupefied. "What?...When?"

"At the Council called by Lord Elrond. You said…" the elf paused again, but Aragorn grasped and raised his chin so that their eyes met.

"_Saes_, Legolas, tell me, please." Aragorn's voice was pleading now, disturbed by the shadows flitting across the elvish face, not sure if they were from the light of the feeble torches or from a painful memory.

The elf released everything in a rush. "Gollum had escaped. From our hands. My patrol. When I broke the news at the Council, you said – you asked how the folk of Thranduil came to fail in their trust. I never forgot your words, Aragorn, and now I have failed you again. I lost my prisoner, and you are here where you should not be, embroiled in the troubles of Mirkwood. Because of me."

The Ranger was dumbfounded as his mind worked furiously to recollect the events of the Council and the verbal exchanges that had taken place. Men and elves and dwarves and hobbits and one irate Istari – they had all learnt of the existence of the One Ring and of the dire threat to Middle-earth, and they had all been faced with dismaying discoveries and hard decisions that brought little hope of salvation. It had been a trying time for all, not the least for him, whose destiny had propelled him into the heart of the peril, and on whose shoulders the future of Men and Middle-earth, in part, rested.

In the greater turmoil surrounding the fate of the free peoples of Middle-earth, the Ranger and the future king of Gondor had not realized what his words – impulsively uttered – had meant to one elf whose people had been charged with a creature they did not love, a creature that played a role they had no knowledge of, in a war they could not foresee. He remembered the words now: as blunt an accusation of failure as there could be.

And Legolas had borne that memory for ten years. Kept it in his elvish mind, yet remained unflinchingly loyal to the one who put it there.

Ten years of unresolved pain had festered into bitter venom for Sarambaq, but such pain could not sully the noble heart of Legolas or overpower the love in it.

For the second time in less than a day, Aragorn felt humbled. His emotions caught in his throat when he studied the look of hurt on the fair face of his friend, though the elf tried to hide it behind downcast eyes. His mouth was dry when he tried to speak.

"Legolas," he began and swallowed. "My words… they were rash, foolish words spoken in a moment of fear, for each piece of news and each tale told at the Council promised only certain danger and little hope for all of us, for all of Middle-earth." He paused in brief reflection.

"My heart was in great distress, my mind in turmoil over a precarious future. Yet, that was no excuse for my thoughtless tongue. No, _saes_, let me finish…" he held up his hand when Legolas tried to interrupt, and continued. "The news you brought to us about Gollum – it was dismaying, although as things turned out, Gollum's being alive was critical to the fate of the Quest, that you know. But no matter the outcome, you did not deserve the insult I dealt you. Not you, not the elves of Mirkwood, not the folk of Thranduil." He looked deeply into the eyes of the elf before him. "Will you forgive me once more, Legolas?"

The look of sincere regret and pleading in the Ranger's eyes plucked at the heart-strings of the gentle elf, who hoped his voice could capture the depth of his love and conviction as he replied:

"I say again, Estel, I have never held anything against you. Hear me and believe me."

Aragorn tightened the hold on his friend's hand and allowed a single tear to trace his cheek in the dark as he responded.

"I believe you, dear friend, and that is what brings me shame. Yet, in my shame, I have one more thing to ask of you: as we would wish Sarambaq to release himself from his desire for revenge that has consumed him for ten years, I beg you to cast aside the memory of my words that seems to have haunted you for that long. You have never failed me, Legolas, not in the forests of Mirkwood, not in the woods of Ithilien, and not in the healing rooms of Minas Tirith. No fault could I lay on you for what happened at any of those places. It was my weakness, not yours."

The elf was silent as his friend bared his soul to him, but his eyes were fixed on the man, and he removed the Ranger's tear with one slender finger.

"We have been through so much together, Legolas, through fire and snow and hurt and war and death. In all the years I have known you and through all the years of my struggles as the heir of Isildur, I have had no truer companion in elf or man. No one need remind me, for I know what lengths you would go to for me, and you know I would do the same for you. Let no foolish words hold sway over us or come between us."

"They do not," came the reassuring reply. "_Im innas anna-nin cuil an beria lin,_" Legolas said softly, looking directly into the eyes of his friend. "I would give my life to protect yours."

"_A im sui eithel_," Aragorn whispered his pledge in return, returning the steady gaze. "And that is why there is to be no talk about whether this grudge of Sarambaq's towards you and your father should or should not involve me. Between us, this should not matter."

Legolas' half-parted lips seemed on the verge of saying something else, and a shadow of a lingering doubt crossed his fair face. Aragorn waited, but the elf let it go and said nothing, so the man did not press him. Instead, he continued.

"I have missed you, my friend, truly missed you. Whenever the burdens of my kingly duties become too much, my thoughts turn ever to Arwen and Eldarion for solace and warmth, and to you for strength and companionship even across the miles. How I have longed to spend time with you again," the King said pensively. "Yet here we are now, in another mess," he added with a sudden chuckle, and a faint beastly screech from above reinforced his observation. "I really do not know what is going to happen, or how we will escape this… but we had better do so, for I have a bottle of good wine back home with our names on it, waiting to be opened."

In the darkness of the cave, and despite his aching body, Legolas smiled back. For a moment, their conversation and their predicament struck Aragorn as amusingly odd.

"Here we are, saying things from the heart that should be said in another time and place, instead of in the middle of a… well… a battle," he said with a wry grin.

But the look in Legolas' eyes was one of profound reflection rather than mirth, as if he was recalling similar moments from some other time and place in his long life.

"What needs to be done and said, should be, in any situation." he replied sagely. "And perhaps it is in battle, when one is close to possible death, that we feel the reality of those truths keenest, and so should we speak them."

Aragorn looked fondly at the face next to his.

"Why, my friend, you have grown wise indeed," Aragorn jested, though he felt a pang of sorrow that the elf should be thinking those thoughts. He still held his friend's hand and squeezed it again as he said with unmistakable conviction, "I know not what tomorrow will bring, Legolas, but I am with you, and we will get through it together."

The elf smiled quietly in return, the tiredness in his eyes not escaping the healer's scrutiny.

"Now… let us rest in sleep again, and I will brook no argument, Elf."

"I offer none…" the elven eyes glazed over in reverie even before the rejoinder was finished. Just one moment longer, the Ranger looked tenderly at the fair face, innocent in slumber, before his breath released in a soft sigh and his own eyes closed in sleep.

Tomorrow, a new and different storm would be upon them.

Tomorrow, they would have to face Sarambaq.

But tonight, the two friends would sleep peacefully, secure in the resolution of an uncertainty long kept hidden, and caressed by the solace of forgiveness given and received.

Tonight, in the gloom of an enemy's cave, the ten-year-old shadows of a Ranger's words, and the dark nightmares that had accompanied them, would vanish from an elf's mind in the light of a renewed understanding shining brightly from the depths of two souls bound by love and loyalty.

_I know not what tomorrow will bring… but we will get through it together. _

As the night passed for Middle-earth, and the rain fell around them, and the stars wheeled overhead in a cloud-covered sky, they held on to those words and to each other for strength and comfort.

* * *

_In the end, the Shadow is only a small and passing thing: there is light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach._

(adapted from J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers)

_**

* * *

**__**Note:** There is nothing more precious – or harder to come by – than such depth of friendship and devotion. I thought it deserved a chapter by itself, don't you? _

_Working hard to 'whip up a storm' in the coming chapters, fuelled by passion and determination and little else. _


	25. Hostage of Hate

**_Note to reviewers:_**

_**Kelsey Estel, Deana, Evergreene, Shadowfax, Ali, Slayer3, Elf771, AM, Sabrina, Moe, Eliza61, Tinnuial, Star-Stallion, kukumalu, Kirsten, viggomaniac **(no such annals, lol, but thank you)**, lindahoyland, Red Squirrel **(welcome back!): _

_I am so glad you love the chapter as much as I do; I feel like hugging each of you. _

_New readers/reviewers **Raspberry, Kirsten Z, OfPiratesAndElves**: Welcome and thank you; hope you will stay. _

_**Cloud 1-2-3: **By the time you read this, you would have caught up; thank you for reading and reviewing._

**_Ithilien_**: _Caught up too by now, obviously. Re your contention – it's fine; I take it as an interesting matter for discussion._ _Thranduil is Sindarin and an Eldar (appendix says so); therefore, Legolas will always be Sindarin for me even though he grew up among Silvan elves. However, I agree that it does NOT necessarily make him glow. It's just that Gildor Inglorion did – and he said he was from the House of Elrond, and as far as I know, Elrond and his kin were born here in Arda. So if those Eldar glowed, why not Legolas? Put it down to my fanciful thinking, lol. Thanks for sticking with me._

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CHAPTER 25: HOSTAGE OF HATE

Aragorn finished applying a clean bandage to Legolas' wound in the early light of day, and pulled the blanket up to the elf's chin, making him as snug as he could against the chill of a misty morning.

"Sleep as much as you can, and while you can," Aragorn said softly to his friend, placing a hand on his brow.

"I do feel tired still, Aragorn," the elf admitted, looking at the Ranger through half-closed eyes, "although my mind can hardly rest for worry."

"You need the sleep to recover, and I fear Sarambaq will not leave you alone for long, once he knows you have awoken." Aragorn reminded him. "I need to scout around, but I shall not tarry overly long. When you wake later…"

Aragorn was stopped in mid-sentence by a pale hand that had escaped the blanket to hold the Ranger's arm in a light grasp. "Be careful, Estel," came Legolas' concerned reminder.

"I will," the Ranger smiled reassuringly. "I will tell them I need to gather more herbs. That way, I can wander around more freely, I hope. But I will return as soon as I can, and when you awake later, you can have a bit more of the _lembas. _Go back to sleep now."

Aragorn frowned a little when Legolas complied readily with his advice, and the Ranger thought how ironic it was that he should be glad the elf obeyed his instructions, yet, the submissiveness worried him, for the elf would never have done so willingly were he up to his usual strength. Neither would the elven body, which had gone through the snowstorm of Caradhras unfazed, feel the cold of this cave, yet it did. The flesh wound was healing remarkably quickly on the immortal elf, but Aragorn recalled how, earlier, the elven strength and grace of the elf prince were all but absent as he leaned on Aragorn to walk into the woods and relieve himself. His hand had also been shaky when he fed himself a small piece of _lembas _Aragorn shared with him, and when he held a cup of water to his lips.

_The poison has exacted much from him_, the Ranger realized worriedly, _but I hope sleep will help his healing abilities to work faster. _

With that thought, he washed himself at the rock basin in the cave, put on a tunic and hid a dagger in the side of his boot, hoping he would not have to use it. After making certain that Anduril remained out of sight, he left the sleeping elf and ventured outside. The guards had left the cave at dawn when it was clear that the elf was hardly able to walk on his own, but just as Aragorn was leaving, two new ones took their place at the cave entrance.

"Where are you off to?" one of them demanded of the Ranger.

"To see to my horse and your wounded companions," Aragorn replied easily. "The elf rests still. Do not stir his sleep."

After a brief discussion with the other guard, one of them hurried after Aragorn, much to the Ranger's annoyance, but there was nothing he could do to refuse the surveillance. The first place Aragorn went to was the stables, to make sure Rallias had been fed, and to brush him down. As he worked, his eyes wandered discreetly around the Adhûnian camp, noting that many of the men did not seem to be doing anything in particular: some were taking a quick breakfast, some seeing to the horses, some merely standing and watching. But there were also men sitting around a fire, cleaning and sharpening the blades of swords, scimitars and daggers, and making crude arrows. This last scene disturbed Aragorn, for they were clearly preparing for some event.

He wondered where Sarambaq might be. A screech from the flat top of the Rock above suggested an answer, and he tensed.

_He will go to the cave soon_, he thought anxiously, _and I must be there when he does. _

In the meantime, he would explore the area a little more, to see if there was any means of leaving the camp unnoticed, thinking even as he considered the possibility, that there would be little likelihood of doing that successfully. Sarambaq would almost certainly not leave them alone today. The only small comfort Aragorn was able to nurse was that the Adhûnian did not seem to desire an end to Legolas' life yet.

_But he will not wait long to exact his revenge_, the Ranger realized grimly. _Can we be prepared for it? Oh, Valar, watch over us, _he pleaded.

Aragorn made a pretext of visiting the wounded men he had treated yesterday, changing linen where he needed to, and pronouncing other wounds already mended.

"You have good hands, healer," one of the wounded remarked. "You could make a living in Adhûn if you choose to settle there."

Aragorn could not suppress a smile of amusement. _I am needed elsewhere_, _and for much more than healing_, he thought, but all he said was: "We will see."

Needing an excuse to scout the area outside, he remarked quite clearly and audibly that he needed to find more herbs in the woods. But no sooner had he stepped out of the cave where the wounded men lay did he hear loud voices heading towards the cave Legolas was in. His heart gave a lurch and he followed them, cursing himself for not having returned there sooner, and trying to control his pace so as not as to raise the suspicion of the guard at his heels.

As he expected, Sarambaq was striding purposefully in the direction of the cave, Närum behind him. When the men walked past the lone guard, Aragorn could not help quickening his own strides. He reached the cave entrance just as the men stopped next to the prone figure of the sleeping elf.

"Where is the healer?" Sarambaq bellowed, looking around.

"I am here," Aragorn responded quickly, again feigning a meek tone. "I was seeing to the others who need treatment." Närum gave him a nod of silent acknowledgement.

Sarambaq swung scornful eyes on him, and again narrowed them as if he was trying to recall something. But his interest quickly returned to the elf.

"Did he awake?" he asked brusquely.

"Briefly," Aragorn replied as nonchalantly as he could, walking slowly to where they were. "But he is still very weak, and will continue to sleep for much of today, I expect."

Sarambaq growled and looked so aggravated that Aragorn feared he would kick the elf again.

"Sleep is what he needs to get back on his feet again," the Ranger said quickly, "He can hardly walk on his own yet, for much poison was in his veins. But if that is what you desire for him to do, he must sleep. And I will have to seek more herbs to make him tea."

Sarambaq looked even more annoyed, as if he was not quite sure if that was what he wanted. He looked like he was about to make a remark, but just then, Legolas stirred and uttered a soft moan. His eyes fluttered open slowly.

Everyone looked at him, and Aragorn went to his knees beside his friend, pretending to bend over and check his brow for a sign of fever, although he knew it was quite cool. The Ranger's whole body was tense, but he hid the tension behind the calm façade of a healer. When Legolas looked at him in a daze, his eyes warned the elf to speak cautiously. His lips, hidden from Sarambaq's sight, mouthed voicelessly: "Hama."

"Well, well, elf prince," Sarambaq said, not bothering to hide his disdain. "You wake."

Legolas started at that voice and turned to see for the first time the Adhûnian – former minion of the Necromancer in Dol Guldur, and hunter of his father. His eyes focused, and as a spark of anger flashed in them, Aragorn prayed that he would be able to control it. He was grateful at the elf's silence.

"Do you remember me, elf prince?" Sarambaq asked, tilting his head and sneering.

Legolas stared at the man for a long moment, his fine eyebrows knitted. He guessed that this was Sarambaq, and he was trying to recall if he had seen the man before in Dol Guldur. He had been on many patrols, but the dangers were always so acute, and the orcs and men he fought off so numerous, that his attention had always been on keeping himself and the members of his patrol alive; he paid little or no attention to any individual foe.

"No," he said finally.

Sarambaq's lips curled in contempt. "Of course not, _prince,_" he snorted. "I was just one of the many unnamed troops you and your royal father cut down in Dol Guldur without a second thought! Of course you would not know me then." As the man paused, he bent lower and stared Legolas in the eye, hate written all over his face. "But you will know me now! It is by my will you are here, and foolish were you to think you could face me alone!"

So," Legolas responded calmly, "you are Sarambaq, of whom Brûyn spoke."

"Yes, I am he," the man replied, his voice thick with derision. "And I am the father of the fine young warrior whose life was taken by the elven king of Mirkwood!"

Upon hearing those words, Legolas tried to sit up.

"We were defending our realm that you and your Dark Lord threatened," he retorted in a weak voice, increasing Aragorn's anxiety. "You were ever encroaching past our borders."

"Grraaahhh!" A roar of rage erupted from the Adhûnian, and he stepped closer to the elf, his whole body as tense as a whip. "We were not past your borders when your high-and-mighty father attacked us at the last! He and his insufferable friends from across the mountains assaulted us!"

"To take back what was once a great green wood, teeming with life," Legolas argued, till struggling to sit up, his usual calm demeanor threatening to dissolve in the passion of justifying a mission to which every Mirkwood elf of the Third Age had been committed. "A great forest enjoyed by the free peoples of Middle-earth before the Necromancer stained it and filled it with his Shadow! My father and Lord Celeborn were merely reclaiming what Sauron corrupted and took for himself. The Greenwood was not his or yours to begin with. The elves could not have trespassed into a realm that was theirs at the start."

Sarambaq was stunned into silence, for he had not expected the sick elf to retaliate, even with words.

Aragorn felt his own hair turn several shades of grey. He hoped for Legolas to remain silent, yet he could understand the elf's passion. He helped Legolas sit up so that he would not be so helpless at least, and fought to keep a tight rein on his own nervousness, for he could not let his façade slip.

The elf's blue eyes were fixed on the Adhûnian. He showed no fear, and his voice as he spoke again was calm, deadly calm, which filled Aragorn with dread, for he knew that the elf would now rather die than retract his words. He had seen that look and heard that tone before: when Gimli had been threatened by Eomer at their first meeting, the elf had drawn his bow and arrow to defend the dwarf, blind to the dozens of spears that had been raised and aimed at himself in response, so furious was he at the insult leveled at his friend.

Aragorn let him speak, but kept a hand on his chest.

"I know not the full circumstances surrounding your son's death, and I regret that it had to happen, as I regret the unnecessary death of any living being. But we were in a war, and you would have known full well the consequences of being embroiled in one. After all, not a small number of my kin have died at your hands, and perhaps at the hands of your son."

Sarambaq blanched, but the elf was not finished.

"If my father killed your son, it would not have been an act he enjoyed, of that I am certain. And he would not have taken any life unless his own had been in danger. If your son had lived, he would have slain my father; that is the ugly truth of war."

Sarambaq could not have looked more pained than if the elf had struck him physically.

His eyes bulged in his angular face as he yelled his response:

"But it is not your father who lies cold and dead!" 

Sarambaq advanced even closer to the elf, towering over the seated figure, who stayed coldly immobile. Aragorn was almost frantic with worry at what the man might do in his rage and found himself wondering how fast he would be able to retrieve Anduril from its hiding place. He placed another hand firmly on the elf's shoulder and squeezed it, willing him to remain calm as the Adhûnian continued his rant.

"My son did not even receive the dignity of a grave to hold his body, for I was forced to flee Dol Guldur! No cover to keep him from the vultures that would feed on his flesh as he lay rotting! Do you know how that knowledge has tortured me for ten long years?" 

_Yes, I do, _Legolas thought, _for I was not always able to retrieve our dead, the elves you slew. _But he did not say this aloud, seeing that Sarambaq was growing more livid. He was wise to have held his tongue, for the next instant, the Adhûnian unsheathed his sword and placed it at his neck. Legolas did not flinch, but the Ranger by his side swallowed hard. Knowing his friend was still too weak to fight, his fixed his eyes on the blade, ready to deflect it with his bare hands if he had to.

The fury and pain in Sarambaq's face was fearsome to behold, and his next words dripped venom. "I have waited ten years for you to come within my grasp, elf! And you will bring your murderer of a father to me."

At the mention of his father, a flash of fear crossed Legolas' eyes, but his face remained impassive. _My father is no murderer, _he retorted silently, but different words left his lips. "You seek retribution, do you not? A life for a life?"

The Adhûnian merely growled in reply, pressing the sword closer against the skin and drawing a thin trickle of blood.

Aragorn tightened his grip on the elf's shoulder and reminded himself to breathe. _He wants Legolas alive, he wants him alive_, he frantically reminded himself, but his other hand slowly moved to feel the tip of the dagger hidden in his boot.

"Take my life then, if it will give you satisfaction," Legolas continued in a steady voice that belied his turmoil. "A son for a son, and so shall the debt be paid."

_What are you saying? _Aragorn asked silently, panic washing over him as he looked at his friend with wide eyes. _Do not challenge him, do not. _

As Sarambaq and the elf faced each other, each unblinking, neither retreating, the tension in the cave grew thick enough to cut with a knife.

The heavy silence was broken by an unexpected command from the Adhûnian.

"Get up," he said in a low, dangerous voice, his sword not leaving the elf's neck.

Aragorn tensed even more and bit on his lower lip till it bled, looking first at Sarambaq, then at Legolas and back again at the Adhûnian. Närum and the guards, who had remained absolutely silent throughout the exchange, also looked extremely ill at ease, not knowing what to expect.

When Legolas did not respond, Sarambaq repeated his command, more forcefully this time: "Get up!"

Aragorn decided he had to step in. "He cannot…"

"Shut your mouth!" Sarambaq cut him off, swinging the blade in his direction now.

Seeing this, Legolas quickly tried to stand, placing his hand on Aragorn's arm, both for support and to tell his friend not to antagonize the Adhûnian. A wave of dizziness assailed him and he stumbled. Aragorn caught him quickly.

Sarambaq looked at the Ranger suspiciously. "Why are you so concerned about the elf?" he asked.

"I am a healer, I care for all who receive treatment at my hands," the Ranger replied, clenching his teeth but keeping his tone casual as he helped the elf to steady himself.

"I am up," Legolas declared quickly to draw attention away from Aragorn. His breathing was still a little ragged, but he tried to stand firmly upright. "I am up," he said again. "What do you wish?"

Sarambaq said nothing, but the fire in his eyes still smoldered, his blade now pointed back at the elf's chest. After glaring at him a few more moments, he unexpectedly lowered the blade, and turned around to walk a yard in the opposite direction. Then he swiftly pivoted back to face the elf and issued another command: "Approach me."

No one moved, not even the elf who had been given the instruction. Legolas merely continued to stare at the man.

"Approach me!" Sarambaq shouted his command again.

Slowly, willing his unsteady feet to move, Legolas started towards him, frustrated that his usual impeccable elven balance was still upset by the effects of the poison. Aragorn made to follow, but the Adhunian sent him a glare that halted him in his tracks.

_Do not go too close, _the Ranger sent out a silent, desperate warning to his friend, hoping that the elf would somehow sense it. As if he did, Legolas stopped just within reach of the blade if Sarambaq should decide to swing it, but far away enough to evade it if he were fast enough. Aragorn could see that even in his unsteady state, the elf's arms and legs were poised to defend himself or sidestep an attack.

"Closer!" the Adhûnian yelled, taunting the elf. For long moments, the elf and the man just stood confronting each other. Yet Aragorn could see the elf's face growing pale, drawing upon what strength he had to remain standing. Legolas walked again, but the dizziness increased, and finally, his legs sagged. Aragorn moved quickly to catch him as he sank to the ground.

"He is still too weak, as I said," he said to Sarambaq, unable to hide some of his anger.

Sarambaq smirked and laughed. "Not so strong now, are you, elf prince? Where is the famed agility of the elves?"

Aragorn saw the icy look return to the elf's eyes despite his physical weakness, but Legolas kept his composure and spoke, looking steadily at the Adhûnian as he did.

"The days of the Dark Lord are over, Sarambaq. Enough men and elves have died on his account. Has not too much blood been shed? For that is what will happen if you start another battle…"

"Battle?" the man echoed the word mockingly. "I do not want another battle, I only want you and your father!"

"Taking my father's life will not bring back your son," Legolas countered. "And there will be more blood spilled than just my father's and mine. Surely you know that the elves will not let this rest. Many of your men's lives, too, will be forfeit, as will yours. If we each continue to seek retribution, where will it end?"

_Well said, Legolas_, Aragorn thought approvingly, looking pointedly at Närum, whose face was set and unreadable, but Aragorn knew that the elf's words had stirred particular emotions, and that they would be warring within him.

"Do not presume to counsel me on bloodshed!" Sarambaq's next words exploded in their ears as he walked toward the elf on the ground. "Do you think I care now? Do you know that the blood flowing from my son's body is all I see in my waking and sleeping moments?"

The man's eyes grew wild, and with a loud yell, jerked his sword upward. In the brief moment that he raised his blade and moved to strike, Legolas lifted his arm to shield himself, and Aragorn immediately yanked him backwards.

Just half a breath later, the sword slammed into its target.

In the sickening silence that followed, the sound of the impact reverberated in the air and in several pairs of ears.

Everyone and everything froze, and time seemed to stand still.

The mouths of the Adhûnian guards hung open. Even the water in the cave seemed to have ceased its flow.

Aragorn's arm remained locked around the elf's chest. His other hand swiftly dropped the dagger it had retrieved, out of sight behind him.

And Legolas' arm stayed raised.

Sarambaq gave a loud snarl and yanked the sword free of the ground – a spot near where the elf had been – into which it had been deliberately and vehemently driven. He made no move to raise it again. After a long moment during which he merely glared at Legolas, he spoke.

"Frightened, Elf?" he asked in a quiet, threatening tone, before stating: "It is not yet time."

The words sent out a chilling message that the true purpose of Sarambaq's plan still awaited the elf, that the peril was simply delayed for now, but despite the warning in the words, everyone seemed to release in unison the tension in their bodies, and the elf lowered his arm slowly.

_He still wants Legolas alive_, Aragorn realized, letting his breath out in relief, relaxing his hold on his friend but still keeping a shaky hand on the elf's chest. He could hear the sound of the flowing water again, but elf, Ranger and Adhûnians all looked at Sarambaq with bewildered expressions on their faces.

What emerged from Sarambaq's mouth was jeering laughter. "Look at the great elf prince now, shakier on his legs than a new foal!" he taunted.

Aragorn was as incensed as the elf, but both held their emotions back.

"What are your intentions?" was all Legolas asked.

"You will find out, Elf, when your father gets here."

"How will you reach him? He knows not where I am, where we are."

"Come now, Elf, do you pretend that you would not have sent him word? I know your news will bring him to the White City soon; he would want to come to where his son is! I still wonder that you were brash enough not to wait for him but to approach my camp on your own. Then again, the arrogance of elves should not surprise me, thinking you can conquer all."

Legolas saw no point in explaining that he himself had not learnt the truth till the night before, or that a message had been sent to his father, though not by him. The explanation would mean revealing Aragorn's identity, so he said nothing of that matter and chose only to repeat his query: "How will _you_ reach him?"

"How I send the message is not your concern, Elf! Do not forget that you are now my prisoner, so cease your impertinence!"

"Leave my father out of this," the elf said obstinately. "You have me. My life for your son's. You do not need my father's." Aragorn resumed his grip on the elf's shoulder and gritted his teeth.

"Your father's life," the Adhûnian said, a strange note entering his voice. "You have no idea how much your father's life means to me," he said cryptically and laughed again, leaving everyone even more befuddled.

Ignoring the elf, he turned to Aragorn. "When will he be able to stand and walk on his own? Tomorrow?"

"The day after, more likely," Aragorn replied, trying to delay whatever Sarambaq had in mind. "Too much movement will reopen his wound, and the poison wears off slowly."

The man looked at Aragorn doubtfully but considered what he had just witnessed. The dratted elf could hardly stand for more than a minute. One more day would not hurt, and Dárkil did need time to heal as well.

"I have waited ten years, I can wait a little longer," he said with a grunt and turned on his heels to face Närum. "Bind him," he ordered, and began to walk in the direction of the cave entrance. But on a second thought, he whipped around and added in a low voice: "Keep a cautious eye on the healer – he is too sympathetic towards the elf for my liking."

The softly delivered instruction escaped the Ranger's ears, but not Legolas'. As Närum and the guards spoke and fetched rope to bind him with, Legolas turned to Aragorn with a worried look, and under the pretext of letting the Ranger help him back onto his blanket, whispered urgently: "He suspects, Aragorn. Be cautious."

"I will," the Ranger promised, shuffling his feet and the things around him more loudly than needed to cover their whispers. "Keep your thoughts on getting stronger. What happened here was much too close for comfort, my friend. I thought my heart would give."

"What does he intend to do with me? What game is he playing?" the elf wondered, as his friend cleaned the small cut on his neck where Sarambaq's sword had lain.

"Apart from using you to bring Thranduil here, I do not know. But we must get away tomorrow if possible, when you are stronger. I will try to think of something. In the meantime, please – do not challenge him," the Ranger said pleadingly.

The elf looked at him quizzically.

"You offered your life," Aragorn hissed, exasperation creeping into his voice, his eyes and hands now checking the various cuts and larger wounds. "Why? Did you want my coming here to be for naught? Why did you do it?"

Legolas sighed. "Partly because I wanted to find out if he truly means to keep me alive…" he began.

"A fine way to find out," the Ranger mumbled sarcastically, but the elf ignored it.

"…and partly because I do not want _Adar_ to be the victim," Legolas continued emphatically, setting his lips in a grim line, and added: "Nor you." He clutched Aragorn's elbow urgently. "Aragorn, please, will you consider – ?"

"Nay!" the Ranger replied firmly, knowing what the elf was about to ask. "I will not leave you here so that your father and I can be safe."

"Aragorn – "

"No!"

"You can come back for me later – "

"Would you leave me if our positions were reversed?" the Ranger demanded, keeping his voice low with a great effort, his eyes alternating between glaring at his friend and checking the guards at the cave entrance. "Would you break the pledge we made last night?" When the elf kept quiet, he demanded again: "Would you?"

In his anxiety and frustration, his hands pressed on the tender injury more roughly than he intended, drawing a wince from the elf, and the Ranger immediately lightened his touch, murmuring an apology.

Legolas said nothing still, but closed his eyes, shielding them with one hand, and Aragorn knew the elf was feeling miserable.

"No," came the pitifully soft reply at last, and the sadness in the elvish voice melted the Ranger's heart. He understood his friend's feelings of helplessness and guilt, but he wanted the elf to accept that he would not leave. He placed a hand lightly on the elf's chest, feeling it rise and fall with each breath.

"We stay together, Legolas, as we promised," he insisted gently. "Unless and until we are forced apart, I will not leave. _Saes, mellon nin, _please do not ask that of me again."

The elf nodded resignedly, removing his hand from his eyes to gaze at the ceiling of the cave. The tumult of emotions in the blue orbs clutched at Aragorn's heart. Were his strength back to normal, Legolas' spirit would be indomitable, but the elf was not used to having his fine elven balance and physical strength stripped from him, even temporarily. With the thought of his father's life, and possibly his friend's, in danger, and with all chance of escape or resistance dependent upon his recovery, the elf's sense of despondency and guilt must be overwhelming.

"Legolas, your strength will return, it will only be a matter of time," the Ranger said in an encouraging tone. "Come, my friend, let us eat something, and you can rest again after that."

Not knowing what else to do, the elf sat up obediently and accepted the _lembas_ Aragorn handed him. "I will bring you some meat later, if they let me have it," the Ranger offered.

Just then, Närum approached them with some rope. Legolas immediately tensed and lowered the wafer of _lembas_, staring the Adhûnian in the eye.

"Is that really necessary?" Aragorn questioned calmly, suppressing the true extent of his anger and irritation. "He can hardly walk, and there are two guards on watch."

"I have orders," Närum said gruffly, studying the obstinate look on the elf, "but it can wait till you finish your food. Just do not cause any trouble."

The Adhûnian departed, leaving the rope and brief instructions with the two guards. True to Närum's orders, Legolas was bound only after he had eaten and drunk, and the Ranger could only sit by and look on helplessly. At the healer's insistence, however, the bonds were left loose enough for the elf to move his hands and feet a little.

Aragorn had expected his friend to struggle, but the elf remained coldly detached, his blue eyes showing no expression as he watched the guards robbing his hands and legs of freedom. This response, or lack of it, filled the Ranger with unease, for he did not know if it was a good sign. He knew that his elven friend felt trapped and extremely affronted, but there was little he could do without arousing further suspicion. When the guards had gone back to the front of the cave, he spoke again to the elf, seeking to comfort him.

"I wish I could loosen your bonds, Legolas, but I cannot do it now," he sighed. "Perhaps tonight, when the guards are less watchful. I need to look around again, but I will not stay away long. Can you try to get some sleep, my friend?"

Aragorn anticipated listless submission or stubborn muteness in response, but to his surprise, the elf answered firmly and determinedly, looking at the Ranger with clear blue eyes. "I will, Aragorn, if that is what it takes to recover my strength. I do not wish to be held prisoner here for long. I may not know exactly what Sarambaq has planned for me, but he will not find me a willing player in his game."

The Ranger felt a weight lifted off his shoulders at Legolas' words, and for a moment, Aragorn actually praised the rope fetters that had rekindled the elf's defiance. The elven spirit was back, the fighter had returned, and it lightened the Ranger's heart no end. He gave his friend's arm another grateful squeeze, and sat back, waiting for his patient to fall asleep before he quietly left the cave.

The Ranger's thoughts were on tomorrow.

But for the rest of this day, he gathered herbs, tended the injured, talked to Rallias, and studied his surroundings, playing out his charade and waiting while Legolas fought the poison to regain his strength.

For the rest of the day, Sarambaq, too, saw to his own task of healing his flying steed, digesting his plans and biding his time.

* * *

In the White City, a worried Steward, a calm and collected Queen, and visiting elves from Ithilien sat and discussed tentative plans of their own. This was the second sunrise after the departure of the King and the elf prince, but despite their anxiety and impatience to ride after them, they had agreed to the suggestion made by the King: they were to follow only if the two companions were not back in four or five days.

In ignorance of what was happening, and afraid of upsetting any plans already in motion, Steward, Queen and elves decided to observe that agreement. They, too, would have to wait.

* * *

Somewhere between the borders of the Wilderland and the Greenwood, elf messengers rode as on winged steeds, racing over leagues of plain and hill and forest, slowing down for no one. For two and a half days now they had steeled their hearts and minds against exhaustion, and for two days more, riders and horses would journey with all speed, with little or no rest, under the scorching rays of Anor and the faint light of Ithil, weaving an urgent path through the thick forests of Eryn Lasgalen, for they had been charged with a task: to deliver a missive of disquiet to the elven King of Mirkwood.

This day, they and they alone would not be waiting.


	26. Plans

CHAP 26: PLANS

Aragorn awoke to a pale dawn and the faint sound of birds. He stretched and yawned, blinking away the cobwebs from his eyes, and immediately looked over to where his friend had lain sleeping.

He could not tell which part of him leapt more violently – his heart or his body – at the sight of the unoccupied spot.

Still befuddled with sleep, he raised himself and reached out to pat the cloak in which Legolas had been tucked, and instantly felt stupid when he found nothing in it. His eyes shot to the cave entrance and saw the two guards positioned as usual, but no elf. Before he could even panic, however, a voice behind him startled him:

"I am here, Aragorn."

The Ranger swung around ungracefully on his behind, to see the elf seated against the wall of the cave, hands and feet still bound, watching him with an amused expression. Whether it was the hours of sleep he had had, or the copious amounts of tea he had been fed the previous day, or the elf's own resilient spirit that had done it – perhaps all of them together – Legolas looked much more at ease this morning. The sight of him sitting, instead of lying helplessly, sent a ray of joy into the Ranger's heart once it had found its way back into his chest.

"When you have finished delighting over my consternation, Elf, you might tell me how long you have been up," the Ranger grumbled good-naturedly, making his way over to his friend. He added in a softer tone: "How do you feel today, Legolas?"

The elf noted the concerned but hopeful look on the face of the man who had again tended to him most of yesterday and part of the night till he dropped from exhaustion, and thought how fortunate he was to have this friend. For the sake of this man, because he knew it would ease his heart, the elf smiled.

"Less like warg spit than I did yesterday," he replied.

The healer chuckled and studied the elven face, warmed by the thought that here was a companion who could still share mirth with him even under such circumstances, and greatly comforted by the knowledge that there were no longer any unresolved matters between them.

"It is good to have you back, my friend," he said softly, referring to more than the spot of color that had returned to the elf's cheeks.

"You brought me back," Legolas replied immediately, blue pools of gratitude shining from behind long lashes. A grin accompanied his next words: "I had no choice, Ranger, you would not leave me alone."

"Never," the Ranger affirmed with a grin of his own, "you do not get to escape my clutches so easily, Elf."

He examined the red marks that the rope bindings were leaving on the fine elven skin around Legolas' wrists and ankles and wished he could slash the bonds there and then. But those marks were the least of his concerns at the moment.

"Can you lie down again, Legolas? Just for a while, so I can check your wound," he requested. When the elf grimaced in reluctance, Aragorn was again amused at the irony of his own reaction: the elven streak of recalcitrance was back, which pleased the Ranger but exasperated the healer. He repeated his earlier question.

"How long have you been awake? How did you move here by yourself?"

"Since dawn," the elf replied as he allowed Aragorn to help him recline, "and very, very slowly. Movement was not easy, as you can see," he added with a nod towards his legs. "But I felt like sitting up."

"That is good," the healer pronounced, lifting the shirt and removing the bandage slowly, a satisfied expression claiming his features. "Yes, and this is healing well, too. Praise Eru for whatever he put into immortal blood to help you mend so fast." He said this from his heart, without a tinge of envy or thought for his own mortality. But the elf looked at him in concern.

"Does that mean we can leave today?" he asked expectantly, anxiety lacing his voice. "Your pretence cannot go unnoticed for long."

It was then that the Ranger realized: the reason Legolas had been so determined to recover quickly was not first and foremost for himself, but to extricate his friend from the danger of being discovered, from the threat of the façade being unmasked. Aragorn paused in the midst of applying fresh linen and clamped a hand briefly over both of his friend's bound ones.

"Yes, we will," he replied. "I do not think we can afford to wait any longer; Sarambaq will be back for you tomorrow. I was not able to scout very far, but I think our best chance is to escape through the woods to the south. We have to wait till dark."

"With Rallias?"

"Yes, I will try to make him understand where he needs to go to meet us," the Ranger replied, then hesitated. "Do you think he will?"

"Understand?" the elf asked, raising his eyebrows. "Aragorn, Rohan raised him, and I trained him. If that horse could talk, he would."

Aragorn chuckled. "You place much confidence in your skills, Elf," he teased.

"My skills?" Genuine surprise was in the elf's voice. "No, indeed, Aragorn. Rallias is descended from a noble line of beasts, and you are a sensitive master. I merely taught him to listen to your voice. If he understands you, it is because of your bond with him."

Aragorn smiled and shook his head as he fastened Legolas' tunic. The elf would never realize that elven skill and sensitivity reached beasts in ways that humans could never hope to do; the bond between horse and rider came so naturally to Legolas that he sometimes assumed it worked the same way for everyone. Still, if the elf trusted Rallias to understand what they needed, it would do well to listen to him.

The Ranger discreetly looked over to the two guards and saw that they were, as usual, not paying them much attention. One of them was yawning and the other threw them a casual glance before turning back to face the woods outside.

"Legolas, do you feel up to a walk to the woods now? We will tell them we need a bath," Aragorn asked, lowering his voice even further.

"Which we do," the elf said quickly. Despite the circumstances, his eyes lit up at the prospect of their cleaning off four days' worth of dirt from themselves, the Ranger needing it decidedly more than he did, in his opinion.

Aragorn chuckled. "There is a spring not far from there. The fresh air will do you good, and I want to show you where you should head, in case we are separated for whatever reason."

"My head does not swim so badly today." The elf whispered back. "I will go."

"That is good to know, for we may need to walk for some distance tonight. But for the rest of the day, though I know it may be difficult for you, can you act weaker than you feel? Just a little longer. Sarambaq obviously wants you on your feet, and we want Sarambaq to think you are still too weak for that."

The elf nodded, and Aragorn quickly and quietly told him what he had planned.

At the end of his explanation, the elf nodded his agreement and prepared to sit up. But Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at him, not knowing how to say what he feared to say.

"Legolas…" he began and stopped. The look on his face was almost apologetic. "This plan – "

"Estel, I understand," the elf interrupted him, sensing his difficulty. "There can be no certainty. We can but try."

Aragorn sighed and nodded in agreement. "And try we will, my friend," he said determinedly as he helped Legolas into a sitting position. Suddenly, the elf paused. It was now his turn to look uncomfortable, as if there was something he wanted to say but was hesitant to do so. When the Ranger looked into his eyes, he knew why.

"Estel, I might slow you down – "

"We will not have that argument again," Aragorn said firmly. "Whatever happens, we stay together, you stubborn elf. Now wait while I get the guards to loosen your bonds so you can walk." The elf could only sigh resignedly.

Soon, they were in the woods, studying them silently and communicating without words while they washed themselves at the spring under the watchful eyes of the guards. Legolas knew he felt much improved but restrained his movements for the sake of appearances as Aragorn suggested.

The two friends spent the rest of the day much as they had the previous one, largely undisturbed except for another brief visit from Sarambaq and Närum, during which Legolas feigned sleep. The guards informed them that the elf had not been moving about much, and his bonds were still on him, so there was no cause for great concern or wariness.

"All is well so far, Legolas," Aragorn told his friend in the late afternoon. "Let us hope they will continue to leave us alone till tonight. I have to leave to talk to Rallias now and to check on the men. I will return with food for dinner."

"Then we wait?" the elf queried.

The Ranger nodded. "Then we wait, till the opportune moment."

Aragorn left the cave and spent some time giving Rallias a brushing down. Ignoring the curious gazes around him, the Ranger sang softly in Sindarin to the horse so that the men who passed them, amused by the strange melody and sounds, would think it was an old folk song. Little did they know that into his song he wove his instructions to the horse, telling it what to do and where to go, trusting once again in the intelligence of the animal. When he had finished, he quietly loosened the knot holding Rallias' reins to a tree, and went in search of food.

It had been an uneventful day for everyone else at the Table, but for the Ranger and Elf, a tension was in the air that they hoped no one else would feel, as they waited for sunset and nightfall.

* * *

Faramir paced up and down the King's office, his steps tracing the lines of orange on the floor from the rays of the late afternoon sun shining through long slats in the wall. As he ran a hand through his brown locks, he wondered how much more of his hair would remain on his head before King Elessar returned. An instant later, he could not help chuckling in disbelief at the gesture, for it was a habit of the very person he was thinking of. 

There was a knock on the door, and it opened to reveal a guard; behind him stood Hamille and Lanwil, waiting to be admitted.

"My lord, Master Hamille and…"

"Come in, come in," Faramir said, waving the guard away.

"Faramir," Hamille acknowledged him with a slight bow.

Faramir spoke without preamble, his restlessness apparent. "Hamille, four days now. It…"

"It is time, we can wait no more," Hamille finished for him.

"Thank Eru you agree!" Faramir exhaled in relief, his face visibly relaxing. "I will have my men prepare. They will be ready to leave at first light tomorrow."

Lanwil nodded. "As will we."

"It is agreed then, we ride at dawn, unless they return tonight. Come, we need to plan," said the Steward, inviting the elves to seat themselves. He left them briefly to order refreshments, and when he returned, he proposed: "I believe one of you should lead the men, if it is agreeable to you."

"Will you not?"

"Much as I wish I could, my duty is here while the King is absent. I am also aware that your tracking skills are considerably better than mine," the Steward admitted modestly.

The elves nodded, accepting the acknowledgement without arrogance or ceremony. "Then I will go," Hamille offered, "but you had best stay in Ithilien, Lanwil, to dissuade our Lord Thranduil from going after us in haste when he comes. I must beg your aid as well in this matter, Faramir."

"I will do my best, Hamille, although I cannot hope to hold him any more than you can," the Steward promised with a sympathetic grin. "But our riders will reach him tomorrow at the earliest, and it will surely take him as long to get there. You will in all likelihood return before he even arrives… at least, that is my fervent hope."

At those words, Hamille and Lanwil exchanged a knowing look that the Steward did not miss. In response to Faramir's expression of inquiry, Hamille said:

"With his son in enemy hands, and by the request of King Elessar, he may be here sooner than we think, my friend."

* * *

Sarambaq sat in the shade of one of the few loose rocks on the flat top pf the Table, watching his beast gnaw on the ribs of some creature his men had hunted for a roast. The man was pleased that the arrow wounds were already healing well, for Darkil played a big part in his plans. It had to be strong enough. 

The thought of what he had planned for Thranduil and his son filled him with a sense of bizarre satisfaction. He had already decided that the confrontation would be here, not in Adhûn, for he was unwilling to wait longer; the time was now ripe.

Sarambaq's attention turned to the men milling about below. If everything went according to plan, the likelihood was great that he would not see any of them again, but they did not know that, save one whom he had told. In truth, he himself could not see very far into his own future beyond getting his revenge.

Much less still was his concern over his men. Only for a fleeting moment did he wonder what they would do after his plan had been executed. Many of them had served him for ten years since his departure from Dol Guldur, and he supposed they would have to return to fishing and husbandry.

Dol Guldur, he thought sleepily, the heat of late afternoon making him drowsy.

So much had happened in that place. His life had changed because of his service to the Dark Lord. He had suffered much and lost even more. As his thoughts dwelled on his dead son again, he savored the thought of the coming meeting with the elven king. This time, the elves would not have the victory. He wished he could let them all know that they could not win everything – not the king of Mirkwood, not the elf lord from across the mountains, not the White Wizard who had scoured Dol Guldur looking for the creature Gollum. The wizard thought they had not noticed him moving about, thinking he had been stealthy enough, but they had noticed… they just had not done anything because of his wizard's power. A hazy vision of the grey figure played before his sleepy eyes, and he laughed mockingly at the memory of a powerful wizard hunting down the likes of a skulking, slimy creature...

Sarambaq suddenly jumped up as if he had sat on hot coals. His eyes shot wide open, fully alert now. His fists clenched as he strode to the edge of the Table, seeking something.

Then he yelled for Närum.

* * *

The cool and dark of twilight descended on the Table, and a guard lit once more the torches in the cave where the elf prince was held. As Aragorn had instructed, Legolas sat quietly in the shadows at the back of the cave, drawing little attention to himself. 

Waiting in silent and tense anticipation for Aragorn's return, Legolas mulled over their plans. Later in the night, when the guards were less watchful, they would overpower them and make for the woods. They would trek to a place beyond the spring, where they hoped Rallias would be waiting for them, and they would leave the area through those woods. Beyond that, they would have to go through the western woods once more and ride fast to reach the borders of Gondor. They would have Anduril, but Legolas' bow and knives would have to be left behind, for they were in Sarambaq's keeping.

Legolas could only hope that the stars would shine good fortune on them tonight.

Time passed slowly for the elf while he waited. He listened to the trickle of water as if they were playing a long overture, and each flicker of flame from the torches seemed to burn for an age, each breath of his was but one of a million that he had exhaled since twilight.

Hours passed, but there was still no sign of Aragorn.

Waiting in the darkness, Legolas felt his anxiety grow as he imagined dreadful possibilities, each worse than the last. This cave was too far away from the main cluster for him to hear anything that might be happening, and he was located too far in. There would be no point in asking the guards anything either, for they would offer no news.

After a while, he told himself to be more hopeful. Perhaps Aragorn was making final preparations; perhaps he was engaging the Adhûnians in conversation, putting them at ease so that they would not suspect a late-night escape. Yes, it was a tactic Legolas knew Aragorn could use. Perhaps…

It must have been around midnight when the elf heard the guards stir and speak in tones reflecting curiosity and puzzlement as they looked in the direction of the path leading to the cave. Legolas could see the light of an approaching torch, and his heartbeat quickened.

At last. Aragorn.

With a sense of tense excitement and a slight thrill of nervousness, he looked toward the front of the cave, ready to see a sign from the Ranger that the time for departure was not far away.

In the next instant, the floor dissolved beneath him as the figure of Sarambaq filled the cave entrance, his hard, furious eyes seeking and boring into those of the elf that abruptly lost their sparkle.

* * *

Hours later, in the deep of night, elf riders and elvish horses at the point of collapse gained urgent admittance past the elven king's gates in the Greenwood forest. 

They had traveled through the Greenwood at dangerous speeds, trusting their horses not to stumble over roots that would throw their riders into solid tree trunks, or gallop beneath low branches that could knock elf heads off their necks. They had made only a small detour in the stretch of forest that had been given to Ghận-Buri-Ghận and the Wildmen, taking care to keep to the specific path on the eastern side of the forest that had been kept open for occasional traffic between Thranduil's realm in the north, Celeborn's in the south, and Gondor and Ithilien further south. No other concession would the Wild folk make, and the elves observed it faithfully. Still, the elf riders of Ithilien arrived almost half a day earlier than expected, having pushed themselves to the limits of their endurance.

Within minutes, Thranduil was aroused from sleep and handed the document penned in Aragorn's own hand. The shout of shock, fear and anger that erupted from the king did indeed rival that of a herd of raged oliphaunts as Hamille had predicted. The whole palace was aroused from their night's reverie and thrown into an angry turmoil as the distressing news spread from mouth to mouth. And in another few minutes, a group of elves prepared for immediate departure to Gondor, riding their swiftest horses.

The Elf King, however, much as his heart wished to be in Ithilien that very instant, would not be going with them.

His advisors looked at him with wide eyes, their tones reflecting their disbelief. "_Heru nin_, my Lord, you will not go with them?"

Thranduil's expression was grim.

"Nay," he confirmed.

Despite their surprise, the elves were relieved. They had thought it would be impossible to keep their King here, where he would be safe. But their hopes were shattered at the sound of his next words.

"Nay," Thranduil repeated. "I will follow, but I must first ride elsewhere."

Thranduil of Greenwood never thought he would ever be called upon to obey any instruction of an _Adan, _even if he were a king. But this time, he would delay even his journey to his son to fulfill the instruction of Elessar of Gondor.

* * *

**_Note to reviewers: _**

_Thank you to all who reviewed: _

_**Deana** (first place again), **Kirsten Z, lindahoyland, Evergreene, Star-stallion, Slayer3, Ithil-valon** (Chap 24 is dear to me, too), **Kirsten, Elf 771, Red Squirrel** (don't give up the coffee, it's all part of the enjoyment, comp screens can be cleaned, lol), **Snow-Glory, Ali64, Ainu Laire (**the change has been made, thank you!), **Sabrina, Eliza61** (is there minor butt?), **AM** (should I offer readers hair dye with the upcoming chapters?), **Kelsey Estel** (no, Thranduil did not know yet at the time; he does now), **viggomaniac** (very original, thank you, lol; and yes it is fine with me to refer to other stories; in fact, I do so myself, and **Shaan Lien** (nice to have you back, my friend)._

_I am better now and hope to stay that way - thank you so much for the kind wishes and prayers._

_**Ithilien**: Great, you caught up! _: )_ Can't speak for others, but I wrote Legolas as defiant as he was in Chap 25 not because I see him as a superhero (oh no no no), but because I feel that is his nature in the books, as you say, and the clearest example of that is during the confrontation with Eomer. (In fact, that has been the way of elves since the First Age, I think.) Legolas can be very wise and contained, but when his father is being accused of being a murderer, it would have been quite out of character for him to be 'passive' and 'pedestrian'. Yet, he did decide to play it down when the man looked like he was about to blow his top, so our elf is still in possession of his faculties (and you could have been spying while I was writing Chap 26 when you talked about feigning sleep, lol, though this was Aragorn's idea). Sarambaq, however, as you noted, is not thinking straight. Yes, I did want Legolas' words to make him see things from another perspective for a fleeting moment; that was precisely my objective, but one who has been obsessed with one idea for ten years is not about to change his mind easily because of some counsel from – of all people – the son of that object of vengeance. His pride is also a big factor. I won't say more on this because there's still more to come. So, anyway, we have characters who are not one-dimensional; none who are completely evil and certainly no perfect super-heroes (grin). They all make mistakes in some way. _


	27. The Challenge

**_Note to reviewers_**:

**_Shaan Lien, AM, Kirsten Z, Kukumalu, Ali, Templa Otmena, Kirsten, Deana, Slayer3, Kelsey Estel, Sabrina, Tinnuial, Lindahoyland, viggomaniac, Ainu Laire _**(your review is almost a tale in itself), and **_Ithil-valon_** (last or first, your visits are much valued):

Thank you all for your continued support. I'm afraid I cannot respond directly to many of your queries without giving the plot away, so I can only invite you to stay with me and read on. :)

**_Smilingdragongirl_**: Welcome to the tale, and I hope you survive the tension. : )

**_Nautika_**: Let me assure you that this story will be finished, if nothing happens along the way, and I can tell you that because I have already written the final two chapters. : ) (But before the other readers ask: no, the end is not here just yet, at least not this week or the next.)

**_Eliza61_**: I hope I will live to be more than just '10' – in fact, I already am waaaaay past that, lol! But thank you for your good wishes. Now, for your sake, here's the health advisory you requested:

"This chapter may cause extreme heart palpitations or continued gasping and mouth hanging open."

* * *

CHAPTER 27: THE CHALLENGE 

Legolas could not remember when he had last felt so dejected, or spent a night as full of sleepless anxiety as this last one. Bound tightly, gagged and lain prone on his blanket all night, he had been filled with fear not for himself but for Aragorn, whom he had not seen since the Ranger left the cave in the evening to see to his horse. The scene from hours ago played in his mind over and over again:

_Instead of Aragorn, Sarambaq stomped into the cave, his heavy tread echoing off the walls as he approached the seated elf, his countenance contorted with ugly rage. The two guards trotted behind him, still wearing looks of surprise and disbelief. _

"_So you take me for a blind fool, do you, accursed elf?" he had yelled into Legolas' startled face. "We will see who ends up with the upper hand now!" And as if to prove his point, he dealt the elf a sudden and stinging slap that left a red mark on the pale skin of the elvish cheek. _

_With his hands and feet bound, even loosely, Legolas was helpless to retaliate, but his first thought was not for himself. Where was Aragorn? Uncertain what Sarambaq meant or knew, he had to try to find out. The strands of golden hair that had fallen loose from the slap did not hide the daggers in his blue eyes as he ignored the smarting cheek and boldly asked: "What do you mean?" _

_At that question, Sarambaq's eyes bulged and bellowed louder. "What do I mean? You feign ignorance? You seek to heave greater insult upon me?" _

_Legolas would not be riled. "If you will not speak plainly, how will I know –" _

_The man cut him off with a snarl of disgust. "Your insolence astounds me! You still do not seem to realize who the prisoner is here."_

"_I know not what it is you want, Sarambaq." _

_To the elf's surprise and unease, the man replied with a smug laugh. "What I want? Let us just say I have what I want for now… and more than I thought I would get." _

_Something in this tone – a hint of betrayal, a strong note of satisfaction, and the silent gloat in his last words – turned Legolas' blood cold, and an icicle of fear for his friend formed in his heart. Had Aragorn's true identity been discovered?_

"_Where is the healer?" he demanded in a voice that began to shake. _

_The only response Legolas received was a sickening smirk from Sarambaq, followed by a crisp order to gag the elf and bind him more securely. His repeated queries were left unanswered. When the large man had left, Legolas' anxiety overcame his dignity; desperately and to no avail did he beg the guards for news of Aragorn, till they tied a gag around his mouth. Either the guards truly did not know, or they were unwilling to talk, and soon Legolas found himself lying alone in the dark, fearing the worst for the friend who had come here for his sake. _

_He strained his ears to catch any sound, any hint that Aragorn might be nearby, but heard nothing save for the trickle of water and night sounds coming through the cave entrance. _

_Finally, he closed his eyes, trying intently and desperately to feel Aragorn's presence, trying to speak to him through his mind._

_Estel, where are you? Are you well? _

_He stilled himself and forgot everything around him. _

_Reach me, Estel. Speak to me. Let me feel your presence. _

_Soon, even the sound of the trickling water was as nothing to him. _

_Estel, reach me. Please. _

_A moment later, Legolas drew a sharp intake of breath and clenched his fists, for he did indeed sense his friend now. _

_He squeezed his eyes shut even more tightly and gasped as a chill ran through him. He heard no words from Aragorn, but he needed no words to understand the sensation that had suddenly gripped him, the sensation he knew Estel must be feeling: _

_Pain. _

_At that sensation, Legolas strained fiercely against his bonds, struggling with every ounce of his strength to free himself, to get to wherever Aragorn was. But his efforts met with failure, and he finally surrendered, exhausted and utterly dejected. His head sank back on to the blanket, his hair drenched with the perspiration of his struggles. His feelings of guilt and helplessness so multiplied and overwhelmed him that his spirit was all but crushed, and he was unable to stem the silent tears of frustration that trailed across his cheeks and dripped on to the cold hard floor. _

Now, close to dawn, Legolas felt exceedingly weary. Sick with worry and not having fully recovered his physical strength, Legolas finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, haunted by visions of Aragorn being tortured.

* * *

Dawn in the White City saw Hamille standing quietly beside his horse, waiting for Faramir to finish speaking to the soldiers of Gondor who would be riding with ten elves from Ithilien, on the track of King Elessar and elf prince Legolas. The elves had spent the previous night in the White City, nurturing the hope that two beloved figures would ride through the Great Gates and make their pursuit unnecessary. Even now, Hamille still awaited the sound of the Great gates opening to admit riders, or an excited shout heralding the arrival of a man and an elf. 

But no such sound came to bring him relief.

The shades of pink and yellow that streaked across the dark blue sky were reflected in the bright eyes of the elf as he stood watching the dawn, his breath misting in the air. The expression of calm on his fair face masked the sense of unease he felt beneath, from which he could not disengage himself. He knew not why, but his heart told him that his prince was not at peace. A movement at his side made him turn, and he found himself looking into the sensitive blue eyes of Queen Arwen. The silent exchange between them told him that she too shared his disquiet.

But there was also another emotion in Hamille's face – one that the queen did not share.

"Did we make a mistake, my Lady?" he asked sadly. "Did I err in agreeing to let the king go alone? Shall I come to rue that decision?"

The queen's face softened at this revelation of guilt, and her voice, when she spoke in response, pulsed with kindness and sincerity. "Even the wisest cannot see all ends, Hamille, and these words echo across the years to us from one of the wisest of all: the Lady Galadriel, who has seen Valinor, lived through four ages of this world, and returned once more to the Undying Lands. If such a one as she could not tell where one road or another leads, how shall we, who can make decisions guided only by the strength of our convictions and the limited vision of our young minds? We are all fallible, even the Lord Elessar, for all his greatness."

The elf of Ithilien gazed at the queen, digesting her words.

"Rue not the decision you and Elessar made, Hamille, for it was agreed upon with the noblest of intentions. True, they have not yet returned, but who among us can say that they would have if you had gone with him, or whether your company may have brought upon them even greater danger instead?"

Hamille reflected on these words and looked upon the speaker with gratitude.

"Beseech the Valar for their safe return, my Lady," the elf said quietly at last. "For two whom we love."

"That prayer has been on my lips since news of their departure first reached me, Hamille," the Queen responded with moist eyes and a small smile. "My only comfort is that they are together."

"Aye, my Lady, and I hope that is enough till we can reach them," said Hamille. Faramir beckoned to him then, and he bowed to Arwen. "We must depart now."

"Ride safely yourself, Hamille. _Namárië_."

A clasp of hands was all that Hamille exchanged with Lanwil and Faramir before he leapt nimbly on to his horse and led the group of men and elves out of the White City to look for two who were close to their hearts, in a land that was not.

* * *

Legolas was awakened by a hand shaking him roughly and pulling him into a sitting position. The cave was much brighter now, and Legolas knew it must be mid-morning. 

He immediately looked around for Aragorn but his heart fell when he saw no one but the guard standing over him; it startled him to see it was Brûyn, with a smirk on his face.

"We meet again, Elf prince," the sallow-face man said in a smug tone, "but how different our positions are now, eh?"

Even if he were not gagged, Legolas would not have deigned to make a reply. All he could think of was where his friend was and what Sarambaq intended to do with him. As much as he hated the large Adhûnian, he wanted to see him again if only to find out what he had done with Aragorn.

He did not have to wait long. A second man came with a dagger and proceeded to cut the rope binding the elf's feet, after which he removed the gag, but left his hands still tied at his back.

"Sarambaq wants him out there," he informed Brûyn.

"Please," Legolas pleaded as soon as he could speak, looking from one man to the other, casting aside his pride. "Please tell me, what news of the healer?"

A smug look appeared on the face of the newcomer. "Maybe he has left you to your fate, Elf," he said jeeringly.

Leoglas' heart gave a lurch. Left? The word drew mixed feelings from the elf. Perhaps Aragorn had indeed been forced to flee. He wished the Ranger had truly fled and escaped from this mad situation created by a madman. His heart lifted slightly at the thought, but as soon as it had been formed, it dissolved with the realization that Aragorn would never have left without him, or without telling him.

"And what is my fate?" he asked calmly.

"You are about to find out, Elf prince," replied the man, the smug look still plastered on this face.

The two men held on to Legolas' arms as they dragged him roughly out of the cave and along a path leading toward the foot of the Table. This was the first good look the elf had had of the area beyond his own cave and the woods immediately outside, for his movements before this had been highly restricted.

His eyes quickly took in the flat rock and the caves underneath, and the men milling around. A foul stench assailed his sensitive elven nose; it came from the top of the rock – the flying beast and his meal, he concluded. His eyes roamed, seeking one particular figure, and was downhearted to note its absence.

He was led to an open grassy area where he was told to wait. Hearing the neighing of horses, he listened for the sound of Rallias, but before he could discern anything, Sarambaq came into view, his hand resting confidently on the hilt of the sword at this waist, fingering the hilt.

The action was not lost on the elf. Legolas did not feel cowed by the man, but he found himself hoping to avoid a physical confrontation, for he knew he had not fully regained his strength, and his wound was newly healed. He stood quietly, waiting to see what would happen.

The Adhûnian walked up to him and cocked his head at the elf, his eyes running up and down the slender figure.

So, Elf prince," he said, "no longer so weak, are you now?"

Legolas did not answer or flinch, nor did his eyes leave the man's. _What game are you playing today, Sarambaq? _he wondered in silence.

As if he had heard the question, Sarambaq turned to the men behind him and gave a one-word command: "Prepare."

Legolas watched the Adhûnians gather in a wide circle around them, some talking excitedly, some looking nervous, others nonchalant. Närum appeared among them, and to Leoglas' horror, he was positioning a few men with bows and arrows, and men who looked confident with swords, in the innermost ring. When his eyes met Legolas', there was a look in them that had not been there before: a curious mixture of anger, blame and sympathy.

The elf could not suppress the small wave of alarm that washed over him as he eyed the armed men.

Had Sarambaq changed his decision to keep him alive? Were they going to execute him now? Before he even had a chance to see his father? Before he could find out where Aragorn was?

He looked around him, seeking a way out and trying to find some clue to where Aragorn might be. Then his eyes alighted again upon Sarambaq and the mocking smile on his face.

"Frightened, Elf?" Sarambaq repeated the taunt he had thrown him in the cave two days ago.

"Is there reason for me to be?" Legolas rejoined calmly. His quiet challenge had the opposite effect on the Adhûnian, who snarled and hollered to one of the men: "Bring his things!"

This time, Legolas could not hide his surprise when a man approached him with some items in his hands. The elf had no trouble recognizing what they were: his twin knives, the elvish design on them unmistakable.

Legolas was surprised again when Sarambaq told his minion, "Untie his hands, give him the knives!"

Those words filled him with both elation and dismay, for he wanted nothing more to hold his weapons in his hands again, but if Sarambaq was handing them to him, that must mean one thing: the Adhûnian intended for him to fight.

The elf looked around again. Even in his weakened state, it was possible for him to put up a fair amount of resistance against those who wielded swords, although his usual ability to evade blows might be hampered, but the sight of the bowmen deflated him; he did not think there was any likelihood of dodging that many arrows shot from close range.

Then another thought gripped and horrified him: was he, perhaps, expected to run – like quarry?

The elf was disgusted. _Does he want sport? Does he want me to run like some woodland prey? If so, I will not give him the pleasure. _

And there was an even more important reason for him not to run.

_Even if I could lose them in the woods, I cannot_ _leave without Aragorn. _

The thought of the Ranger made him stand straighter as his hands were unbound, and he clenched and unclenched his fists to rid them of their stiffness.

"Take the knives," Sarambaq told him when the knives were held out to him.

Legolas did not need a second invitation. Whatever the man had in mind for him, he wanted his weapons back in his hands. He snatched them, inadvertently cutting the palms of the man who held them, drawing a passionate curse from the Adhûnian lips.

It felt good to hold the knives again, and from the force of habit, immediately adopted the stance he usually took when surrounded by foes. Certain that he was expected to fight, he took a deep breath and turned his nerves to ice, and his whole form became one of calm preparedness. His senses were attuned to movement from any direction, honed through his countless encounters with giant spiders, orcs and other hostile beings since he was old enough to hold weapons during the Third Age. If his life was to be taken today, he would not make the execution easy.

His eyes roamed the circle of men, wondering which of them would deal the final blow or shot. Legolas was not afraid to die, but he wished with all his heart that he could see Aragorn again before he did.

_Estel, wherever you are, be with me in spirit, for I am with you_. Saying a silent prayer for the safety of his friend, he waited for Sarambaq to give the command for his men to attack.

He listened, but the command never came. And none of the men moved.

Instead, the man himself approached and took up a fighting position, standing a few yards in front of the elf. In the hush following the movement, the sound of his sword being drawn grated on every ear, so keen that it seemed to cut through the fibers of the very air itself.

Legolas knitted his brows. What was Sarambaq up to now? Did the man want to fight him himself?

Mutely, the hefty Adhûnian and the slender elf prince faced each other: one heated with fury, the other coldly composed; each studying the other, and neither afraid.

Then the Adhûnian raised his sword and issued the challenge. "Now, elf, show me the skills for which your kin is famed. You and I shall engage in combat."

So, Sarambaq did want to fight. But the armed men…?

A suspicion crept into the elf's mind then and filled him with disgust. Sarambaq wanted the victory of the kill, he guessed, but he needed the armed men for security, a coward's security, in case he could not attain the victory without aid. For all his sound and fury, the man could not fight his own battles, not during the attack on Ithilien, and not now.

As if he had read Legolas' mind, Sarambaq said something that took the elf completely by surprise: "Worry not, Elf, it is not your turn to die today." He paused, enjoying Legolas' confusion. "But I want you to fight me."

The elf held his knives firmly but pointed them earthward, making no move. "Why?" he asked.

Sarambaq had expected this reluctance. "Yours is not the right to question why," he replied sternly. "But if you must know, let us just say I shall enjoy the challenge."

Legolas stood still, rigidly defiant. "I am not here to give you the pleasure of a sport that makes little sense."

Sarambaq looked incredulous. "Are you afraid, accursed elf?" the man barked, taking a step forward.

Legolas could not help a small smirk, his elven pride affronted. "Afraid?" he asked disbelievingly. "You, who have placed men with weapons around me in insurance lest you fail, ask me if _I_ feel fear? Why should I fight you, if the fight will not be fair?"

The bellow from the Adhûnian sent a flock of birds flying off in startled response.

"You are in no position to demand fairness, or to say what is or is not fair, you son of a murderer!" he snarled.

"I see your design. You fill me with your poison so that you can dominate me in my weakness," the elf said boldly. "And you call my father the murderer? He would never do what you are doing now."

"Damn your insolence, elf! I shall take pleasure in tearing you limb from limb myself when the time comes, but if you wish to retain your limbs till then, it would do you well to remember you are my captive, and you shall do as you are told!"

"I see no reason to provide you with sport," Legolas replied without moving. He knew he would have to defend himself if the man attacked, but he was adamant about not giving the man any misplaced sense of true victory before then.

The men around them were stunned into silence, astounded by the audacity of the elf; some thought him extremely brave, others found him outrageously foolish, but all waited with bated breath to see what would happen.

Sarambaq looked like he would explode, but with great effort, he restrained himself and merely said: "No reason? Then let me provide you with one – a good one." He turned to his men and yelled a command: "Bring him!"

Legolas' brows knitted. There was an immediate commotion on his right where the caves were, and a few moments later, his blood ran cold as he watched a figure being dragged into the ring.

_Estel? _he breathed, his eyes immediately widening in distress. _Oh Estel, what have they done to you?_

The Ranger's hands and legs were tied, his mouth was gagged, and his face showed apparent signs of having been abused: the brow above one eye seemed a little swollen, the bruise on one cheek was turning blue-black, and a trickle of dried blood ran from one side of his mouth to his chin. The way he was hunched forward suggested that his body had also been tormented. But his eyes were clear and spirited as they locked on the elf. He was very much conscious, Legolas noted gratefully.

The elf took a step in his direction, to find his path instantly blocked by a sword at his chest. At that sight, the Ranger shook his head and his grey eyes widened in caution as he looked at the elf with silent assurance to say: _I am not badly hurt._ _Be careful._

Controlling his wrath, Legolas turned to Sarambaq and demanded through gritted teeth: "Why have you done this to him? He is but a healer!"

Sarambaq's eyes widened, and he laughed. "He is but a healer?" he echoed mockingly, and in that moment, Legolas realized with dismay that the Adhûnian must have found out the truth.

"Tell me, why would just a healer have joined the Grey Wizard in an intense search for the creature Gollum in the realm of the Dark Lord?" the man asked. "For they were together, were they not? His face – " he said, looking at Aragorn, "did not come to memory till I remembered the wizard and their foray into Dol Guldur. And after they found the creature, they delivered it to your stronghold. Does my tale ring true?"

Sarambaq was already sure he had seen Aragorn before, and Legolas found no point in denying it. He kept quiet.

"Curses on his stiff neck, he will not tell me more, but you and he must have known each other before this," he stated, then demanded, "Who is he?"

The elf started. So Sarambaq did not yet know of Aragorn's kingship?

At Legolas' muteness, a sword was quickly pressed against Aragorn's neck, and the elf blurted out: "As you say, he is someone I knew before this."

"Someone you knew? Who is he? Speak quickly!"

Legolas looked at his friend and made desperate guesses.

Although the Adhûnian did not have dealings with Gondor, they must have had news of the return of a king to the country. But that the King was a Ranger of the North before was not likely known to them, for there were many of Aragorn's own subjects who were not entirely familiar with his history, let alone people from beyond the borders of Gondor and as distant as the Sea of Rhûn. Sarambaq himself had focused his attention on Mirkwood, on his father and him. The elf decided that they did not know the truth in full, and was determined to protect Aragorn's identity at all costs, for who knew what this mad man would do if he realized what an important hostage he held.

"He is a healer as he said," Legolas insisted, truthfully. "He was helping the wizard."

"His pack contains nothing but herbs," one of the nearby Adhûnians volunteered.

_So, they have searched Aragorn's things, _Legolas realized. It was fortunate then that the Ranger had secretly transported Anduril, wrapped in their clothes, to the spring where they bathed the day before, and stealthily hidden it there in the undergrowth. Since Sarambaq had grown suspicious, the Ranger had thought it safer to move the sword out of the cave. They had planned to retrieve it when they escaped.

"A healer from Rohan, helping the Grey One? Why?" Sarambaq questioned doubtfully. At the elf's silence, he moved a step towards the Ranger. "Speak!"

"He has skills."

"What skills?"

"Of what import is that to you?"

"_What skills!_"

"Tracking skills." There, Legolas had spoken the truth and hoped this would satisfy the Adhûnian. He did not remove his eyes from the large man, who mulled over the elf's words for a moment.

"A healer _and _a tracker? Strange bedfellows," he commented doubtfully. "How came he to this place when you did? Was it by chance or design? Was he following you?"

"Did he not say?" Legolas queried. "Then neither will I."

"Pah! I grow weary of this!" the Adhûnian growled impatiently. "What you choose to say or not is of no matter now. I have two fools in my hands who thought they could pull wool over my eyes. Neither has proven to be as clever as he thought, and one of them – " he raised his sword and pointed it at Legolas " – has the choice of fighting me, or – " the sword swung towards Aragorn " – the other dies!"

Legolas' eyes flew to his friend, his mind in turmoil at this unexpected turn of events, and the man's next words deepened his distress even more.

"If you defeat me, he lives," Sarambaq stated. "If you lose, so does he – his life."

Legolas sucked in a breath. Now he had to fight this man to save Estel? He could hardly do it to save himself, he thought honestly. Now Estel's life would be forfeit? Oh Eru…

"Heartless are you to place the weight of another life on my shoulders after all you have done to weaken me," Legolas stated bluntly to Sarambaq, although his eyes were fixed on his friend.

"Those are the only options I offer. Choose quickly!"

The Ranger shook his head vigorously, his own eyes wide with concern, telling his friend not to do it, not while he was still not fully recovered. He had not heard Sarambaq's declaration that he had no wish to kill the elf yet.

Legolas' own concerns were for the Ranger. _What choice do I have? _he thought in frustration. He knew there would be no chance of the man releasing him, but Aragorn…

"You will let him go?" Legolas asked, turning back to Sarambaq and missing the frantic plea on the Ranger's face.

The Adhûnian looked at him with a smirk. "If you win, yes," he replied in a cunning tone, gloating over some hidden meaning the elf did not understand.

The elf could not hide his contemptuous disbelief of the man's avowals, but he knew he had little choice aside from the hope that some shred of decency in the mad man would compel him to keep his word. Legolas' shoulders drooped, and he said softly in a tone of defeat: "I have no choice then."

A small cunning laugh followed, the laugh of someone who was playing a game and was delighting in his opponent's ignorance of a concealed trick. "How very clever of you to notice that," he commented sardonically, taunting the elf. "You have no choice that I can see. If you win, Elf – _if _you defeat me _and _you keep your wits about you…," he swept his arms over the circle of men surrounding them, "the healer rides from here, and _you_ get to live another day."

Legolas frowned at the man's cryptic warning. _If you defeat me and you keep your wits about you…you get to live another day. _

After a moment, he realized what it meant: he was being told that even if he could defeat the man, he was not at liberty to kill him. Or he himself would be killed.

What a choice. A choice offered by a coward interested only in sport.

The elf looked at Aragorn again, noting the wild plea in the Ranger's eyes for his elven friend to abandon the fight. Aragorn's struggles were in vain, for two men held on tightly to his arms, and a sword was still placed threateningly at his neck. His muffled voice came through the gag in pitiful, muted cries.

Legolas turned to Sarambaq again, his face ashen. "May I speak with him before we begin?"

The man took on the righteous look of one who grants transgressors a small mercy. "Briefly, elf. Do not keep me waiting."

Legolas walked over to his friend and looked him steadily in the eye, ignoring the men holding the Ranger. Further pretence seemed pointless now, and he spoke softly in Sindarin, in a voice full of apology.

"You should never have been brought into this, Estel. Have they injured you badly?"

Aragorn shook his head, trying to mumble words of reassurance.

"I would kill those holding you now, Estel, but I fear it would have any consequence other than their happily plunging their blades and arrows into us without hesitation, although he has said he does not wish to take my life today." Aragorn looked relieved at those words from the elf, but blanched instantly at the ones that followed.

"Yet I have no choice but to fight him, for he has said he will release you if I defeat him. I can only hope he will keep his word, that there is some honor left in him."

The Ranger, trying to protest through the tight gag, gave a firm shake of his head, holding the elf's gaze with a sad look of his own; what little strength Legolas had would be taxed, and despite Sarambaq's declaration, anything could happen in the heat of combat. Anything.

Legolas felt his eyes misting as he studied the face of his friend he loved, and saw beyond it faint visions of a lady elf and a little boy waiting for him. The elf continued quickly before his voice could choke. "Many times before have I fought for you and beside you, _mellon nin_, but never have I felt so inadequate as I do now, when your life is in my feeble hands. If I should fail… forgive me, forgive me." He took both of his knives in one hand, and placed his free hand lightly on Aragorn's chest, afraid to hurt any sore spots on the Ranger's body. Aragorn wondered that a touch so light could burn a hole in his heart. "The Valar keep you safe, dear friend."

There was nothing more Legolas could say, for the look they gave each other said it all. The Ranger's own eyes were filled with sorrow and understanding as the elf bowed his head once, then lifted it again to give his friend a smile before turning away to walk back to Sarambaq.

Moments later, the mid-morning sun that should have brought cheer to the surrounding woods and warmed the hearts of all within became a spotlight on the two combatants who faced each other – one confident, the other determined and defiant. Legolas realized with apprehension how long he had been on his feet today and how his strength was even now draining slowly from his limbs. He prayed his body would not give out, not while Aragorn's life was in his hands.

This was one fight Legolas he felt he had little chance of winning, yet it was one he could not afford to lose, for the price of a loss was too high to pay. The knowledge cloaked him in the darkness of sorrow but also filled his heart with a cold rage and a deep resolve he had felt only a few times in his life. With the image of his father in his mind and Aragorn in his sight, he waited for Sarambaq to make the first move.

And as a bound and horrified Ranger watched on helplessly, they began.

* * *

The same sun that shone on Legolas and Aragorn saw Thranduil and his small escort of three elves arrive at their destination in the north of Mirkwood. Having ridden ceaselessly since the wee hours of the morning, Thranduil was weary but grateful that the one he sought was there. 

The elven king stood a little breathless but determined as he voiced his plea:

"Long has it been since our last meeting, but I now come at the request of King Elessar of Gondor, and as the father of a much loved son, in the hopes that you will succor us in our time of need, Lord."

And the one he had ridden through the night to find listened to the tale he told.

* * *

_Note_: I'm trying to get the right pace and level of tension here with these climactic chapters - it should be no more than 4 days in between chaps. However, as soon as I get an indication that about 15 of you have read this one, even if it is in less than 4 days, it will be the right time to post the next. I do not want to be responsible for death-due-to-waiting. See you then! 


	28. Defeat in Victory

**_Note to reviewers_**:

_Ai Elbereth! I could swear I posted this just yesterday – and I already find myself having to keep my promise to update as soon as 15 readers indicated they had read the last chapter._

_But a promise is a promise. So here it is._

_**Deana, Evergreene, Kirsten Z, elfchick, Brina, Ithil-valon, SmilingDragonGril, Ali, Slayer3, AM, Kukumalu, Amanda, Enigma Jade **(no, posting 15 times won't do it, lol!), **Ainu Laire, Kirsten, elf771, lindahoyland**, and **lalala bamba** (That was uncanny – you were #15!) _

_Thank you for your (very quickly posted) reviews – still can't respond to your guesses, though, sorry._ : )

_The elvish used in this chapter is from the movie The Two Towers, or from other stories (my thanks to the authors, whom I will acknowledge as soon as I can remember who they are.). _

_And oh – health advisory is on._

* * *

CHAPTER 28: DEFEAT IN VICTORY

_Tense anticipation tingled in every nerve of each living thing present at the foot of the Table, and they could almost smell upon the air something that was not yet here, but which all knew would soon be drawn: blood. _

_For, in an arena surrounded by fascinated spectators, two creatures faced each other in a battle for dominance. The thrill of expectation lit the face of every onlooker, save one, on which only horrified anguish was written as the duel began._

_It was the giant beast that attacked first. Like Shelob or Ungoliant of the Great Darkness, it lumbered across the grass of the arena with a roar, an angry mass of hard brawn, surprisingly swift and dexterous for its size. Its fierce eyes and deadly sting were aimed only at one prey: a sleek, golden mountain cat which stood poised and alert despite the poisoned fire in its veins, pride flowing in every graceful curve of its body. _

_The large beast was strong and powerful, seeking to maim with its vicious sting the body of its opponent as it pounced and stabbed in dangerous moves, forcing the cat to depend on its quickness rather than its waning physical strength. _

_In a series of moves as smooth and unbroken as swirls of water in a lazy river, the sleek creature bent, twisted and spun to evade the brutal thrusts of the monster's sting. The cat had been robbed of much of its speed, but no poison could have stripped it of its fluid mobility. Neither had it lost the inherent nimbleness of its spring, nor the sharp bite of its twin claws, and none of its courage. It now summoned all of these assets, for – despite the claim of the large beast that its intent was not to kill – one careless swipe, one thrust of the deadly sting in a moment of passion during combat – could erase that claim. _

_For long minutes, the creatures battled, attacking, evading, and circling each other, pitting brute strength against golden grace, hard might against sinuous agility, loud fury against silent resolve, both fuelled by the images of loved ones. _

_The large beast was a substantial opponent, for it was not encumbered by clumsiness, and the stab of its sting held polished potency, habitual ease obvious in the assurance of its movements. _

_Yet to the astonishment of all who watched, it was clear that the nimble cat – with breathtaking speed and fine precision of movement – would have long ripped victory from the larger beast, were it not hindered by ailment and by a warning to defeat but not kill. Time and again, the sting of the larger beast lunged towards the sleek one, its success thwarted only by dodges too quick for other minds to grasp, to be met with well-aimed swipes of keen claws that made small, painful and non-fatal marks on the flanks of the larger opponent, eliciting angry roars and growls. _

_Long did they battle on, till sweat drenched their bodies and they panted with weariness, victory not even tenuously favoring the larger beast. _

_But the exercise, in reopening an old wound, eventually took its toll on the already weaker body of the golden one. _

_As the movements of the cat were slowed by weariness, one by one, the larger creature inflicted cuts – small but painful nonetheless – upon the flawless skin of its opponent, on its arms and back, when it could not leap away fast enough. Even its lightning reflexes, honed to near-perfection through centuries of battle with an array of foes that human minds could only imagine, were beginning to wear down._

_The sun was above their heads when the two creatures paused in their duel, breathing heavily. Sunbeams reflected off the radiance of the cat's golden mane, although it lay wet and plastered to a head still held high even in exhaustion. _

_The two beasts faced each other in mute confrontation, contemplating the next move. Stoically, the golden cat ignored the pain of the old wound that had bled afresh, but was acutely aware of an ache in its heart as it considered its feeble chances of withstanding another attack. _

_Then, by some unspoken accord, they both knew: it was now or never; the cat could go on no longer. _

_No power did it possess for another match of physical strength, its only remaining means of defence being its instincts and its desperate will to resist. Breath now came painfully for the golden one, its legs supporting it only on unseen stilts of resolve, its mind saying it would soon be over, its heart weeping for a loved one who would have to pay the price for its defeat. _

_One moment, the large beast stared piercingly into the bright eyes of the cat; then, it lunged bodily with sudden and confident might at its foe, seeking to topple it from the sheer force of the charge and thus gain the upper advantage. One split second was all the warning the golden one had before the hideous face of its enemy neared its own. By some design of the Maker that enables a desperate, cornered creature to call forth a hidden reserve of strength and endurance it never knew it had, the golden cat leapt aside with a swift reflex unexpected from one so fatigued, to spin around and throw its own body into the back of the larger beast, sending a shocked giant crashing to the ground, and with one more deft twist, the sharp edge of a cat's claw was ready to sink into the neck of its fallen foe. _

_A small hiss of anger was all that escaped the lips of the cat before the whole arena fell into a stunned silence._

_Incredibly, it was over. _

_Against all odds, the golden cat had risen from the depths of its exhaustion and sickness to fight for the life of one it loved, and won. _

_And from the sidelines of the arena, a deep breath, long held in tense anxiety, was let loose. _

Digging his knee firmly into the back of the large Adhûnian and clenching his teeth against the strain of the effort, Legolas grasped a handful of the man's hair and pulled his head back while his other hand shakily held the point of one elven knife against the tender flesh at the man's throat.

_For Estel, for Adar, _he thought.

He had expended all his energy, feeling the nausea of extreme exhaustion, and he did not have any strength left to ward off another blow. He was conscious only of the slim advantage of his weight and his upright position that would allow him to slit the neck of the man and put an end to his miserable life and vengeful plans.

But even as the thought ran through his mind, some instinct told the elf to stay his hand. In the next instant, he knew what it was, for a loud voice erupted from the sidelines: "Hold, or you die!"

Legolas looked up wearily, breathing laboriously, to see a ring of drawn bows and swords all aimed at him, exactly as he had expected before they began, but which he had pushed to the fringes of his thinking once they were in the throes of battle. Had he killed the Adhûnian, he himself would have been dealt instantaneous death, skewered a dozen times over.

It had truly all been a game for the man, the elf thought in frustration, the goal and rules of which were decided by one sick mind. He saw clearly the futility of his victory for himself, even for his father, whom he knew Sarambaq would want to bring here at whatever cost. No, it was not for them that he had fought. The only prize he had hoped from beating his opponent was freedom for his friend.

Sarambaq's mouth was forced open because Legolas was holding his head back by the hair, and from the mouth now issued a loud gargled scream of rage.

"Let him go!" the voice from the sidelines commanded again.

Aragorn saw that it was Pöras who yelled it, he who had had little sympathy for the elf even when he lay wounded and unconscious. The Ranger looked at Legolas again and caught his eye, urging him with his own wide eyes and nods to lay down the weapons.

Tasting the bitterness of defeat even in his hard-fought victory, Legolas released Sarambaq's hair and withdrew his knife. He remained on his knees, too weak to stand, and held his knives at his sides. He bowed his head, letting his sweat flow in rivulets across his closed eyes and cheeks to mingle with his tears of frustration and to fall on to the ground in surrender.

With a roar, Sarambaq rolled over and picked himself up, his ego hurting much more than his physical self. Anger born of humiliation was written in his face as he stomped about furiously and issued an order through quick breaths:

"Take away his knives, tie him up!"

As three men came forward to take a hold of the elf and his knives, Legolas looked up at the man and said tiredly: "Your word, Sarambaq. The healer goes free."

The man looked on the verge of an explosion as he let loose a barrage of colorful curses. Legolas decided to stay silent, watching the mad man release his emotions.

After a minute, Sarambaq did indeed cease ranting, but he gritted his teeth as he responded. "Again, elf, do not presume to make demands here! He will be released as I said, but for a purpose, and all in good time. Only when I say so!"

_Estel would be released for a purpose? What purpose did Sarambaq have for him?_

Too weak to argue or think any longer, Legolas could not even squirm when his hands were once again tied behind his back. He could only feel relieved that Sarambaq had said he would keep his word to let Aragorn go.

The Ranger, however, struggled violently, trying to say something and earning himself a smack on the head from his captor and a hard look from Sarambaq.

"So, you want to talk now, healer?" Sarambaq taunted. "If you had done so earlier, you would have saved yourself a lot of pain." He gave an unexpected order: "Remove his gag."

As soon as the cloth was removed, Aragorn looked at Sarambaq and said: "Please, let me see to his wound; it bleeds again."

Sarambaq looked with disgust at the elf. He would not say it aloud, but he truly desired the elf to remain alive for now. It was this intent that made him deliver his instruction: "Take them back to the cave, and set a tight vigil! No more risks will we take."

Aragorn and Legolas soon found themselves back in their cave, and the elf immediately leant against the wall near the back of the cave, his hands bound behind him. The guards released Aragorn's bonds so that he could tend to the elf, but not without a stern warning to avoid any attempt at escape. "You know not whom you deal with in Sarambaq," were their parting words.

_Yes, I do, he is a maniac with a heart of darkness, _the Ranger thought, but said nothing as he knelt and grasped Legolas' shoulders, studying the pale elven face and closed eyes.

"How many more close calls can my human heart take, elf?" he lamented.

"I truly had no choice, Estel," Legolas explained wearily. "He would have killed you, you heard his threat."

The Ranger released a sigh of sad regret. "I know, and I thank you, dear friend. How I wish it had not fallen on your shoulders to fulfill such a bargain, _mellon nin_," he said ruefully. "I would not have asked it of you."

"Do not even think I would have allowed that to pass," Legolas insisted. "Remember our pledge, Aragorn, for I hold to it. You would have done the same for me. I only hope he will keep his end of the bargain."

Aragorn could only bow his head in silence, for words would have been inadequate to express his appreciation of the elf. After a moment, he began to look over his friend's wounds. When he stretched to examine the elf's back, he winced suddenly at the sharp pain in his own ribs.

"Easy, Estel," Legolas said immediately in concern. "What happened yesterday? Did you tell them the truth? Do they know who you are?"

The Ranger shook his head. "Sarambaq had me taken in the evening, just after I had spoken to Rallias and begun to put into motion our plan of escape. I barely had time to turn back to Rallias and tell him not to go anywhere before they dragged me into a cave. Long did he grill me with questions, but I yielded nothing."

"And they tortured you for it," Legolas stated, studying his friend's bruised face. "Are you badly hurt? What did they do…"

"Elf, can you please look at me and see that I can still outrun you by a league?" the Ranger interrupted, shaking his head in exasperation. "Now let me look at your own wound; I shall have to patch it up again."

The elf did not argue and allowed the Ranger to work on the wound with herbs and clean linen from his pack. "It is not too bad, I think," he claimed, ignoring the Ranger's mumble of disagreement, "but you look a mess, _Adan_," he added with a small smile.

"You are not such a pretty sight yourself, Elf," the Ranger rejoined, not truly meaning it, and the elf grinned in spite of his aches. "But that was a mighty fight, my friend," the Ranger declared in a tone of quiet pride. "Well did you defend the repute of the elves – and my life; Sarambaq is the one who bears shame."

The two friends kept silent as they pondered on the earlier events and Aragorn focused on cleaning the smaller cuts. His heart filled with sympathy for the elf who had suffered so much physical affliction in the last few days.

"What now, Aragorn? What comes next in the plan of that mad man?" Legolas wondered worriedly.

"Legolas, I may be wrong," the Ranger ventured, keeping his eyes on his work, "but I think he was… testing himself… for when he confronts your father."

The elf nodded. "I had the same suspicion. Before we fought, he said he wanted to see elven skills, so I suppose he made me fight him today for that reason: so that he can study the moves _Adar_ might use. That would mean he is preparing to duel with _Adar_ himself, for that is what would give him satisfaction. In addition, our battle today may have given him some sick pleasure as well, as he said. It was for his sport, for he is still keeping me alive as bait to lure _Adar_ here."

"That may be," Aragorn agreed worriedly, his eyes on his work.

"Of course we may be wrong," Legolas continued. "It would be much easier for him to use his bowmen for an… an easy kill…" the elf's voice dropped to a whisper, "…when the time comes."

Aragorn winced at those words and looked up. "We will not let that come to pass, Legolas."

"As I said, I shall not play his game willingly," the elf said with resolve. "No matter what happens next, Estel, he has given his word – for what it is worth – that he will release you – "

The Ranger spluttered. "How is it that one of the wise Firstborn, more than a thousands years in age, finds it so hard to comprehend something I have said repeatedly: I am _not_ going anywhere without you!" he said vehemently. "It is enough that I am still allowed to live. I am not – "

"Estel, think of Arwen and Eldarion."

An expression of pain – and a hint of anger – crossed the Ranger's face. "There is no need to remind me of them!" he retorted, louder than he intended. Legolas immediately lowered his eyes and ceased speaking, not in submission, but in sympathy. The action, however, made the Ranger regret his tone instantly; he placed a hand on the elf's chest.

"Forgive me, my friend, forgive me," he pleaded. "I did not mean – "

"_Ú-moe edhored_, Estel, there is nothing to forgive," Legolas said quietly, "I understand. This situation weighs heavy on both of us." He sighed and looked pointedly at his friend. "But they need you, Estel."

"So do you. They are in a safe place. You are not."

"Were we battling orcs and if there were a means of escape, I would be overjoyed to have your company and your strength, Estel," the elf argued gently, "but we are dealing with a demented mind, and one who now has seen through your guise, to an extent." He paused to let this thought sink into Aragorn's mind. "You have to leave, if he will release you. Perhaps you can better design some aid for my father and me that way," Legolas reasoned.

Aragorn held his head in his hands and sighed, his turmoil and struggle apparent.

Then Legolas remembered something Sarambaq had said, and added: "…although… he did say he still needed you to serve some purpose…"

Aragorn looked up quickly. "What purpose?"

The answer came sooner than they expected, when a voice called strongly from the cave entrance.

"Well, has the elf been made whole again?" Sarambaq asked in a shout, approaching them, Närum closely in tow. Sarambaq's face still held a trace of the anger he felt at an embarrassing defeat at the elf's hands, as his eyes took in the fresh bandages under Legolas' shirt, which the Ranger proceeded to lace up. Närum had a look of deep displeasure on his face, which he trained on Aragorn.

"Hama – or whatever your name is, healer," Sarambaq addressed the Ranger. "Let it not be said that I do not keep my word. You shall be released."

Aragorn and Legolas stared at this unexpected declaration from the Adhûnian. The elf's heart leapt; the Ranger's fell. As long as he had not had the liberty, there had been no question in Aragorn's mind that he would stay by Legolas' side, whatever happened. Now – he had to make a choice about the best course of action to pursue.

"But only so that you can perform a task for me," the man added triumphantly.

"What task, and what if I refuse?" Aragorn demanded.

"Oh, I do not think you will refuse this one," Sarambaq said confidently, "not if you value your… friend here, for that is what he is, is he not – a friend? He fought to seek your release." Then he gave Legolas a gloating look. "Little did you know, Elf, that I never meant to kill him. I need him for the task."

The eyes of both friends widened, and Aragorn desired to skewer him for that confession alone. To have made Legolas fight for nothing… Their eyes never leaving the man, they asked as one: "What is the task?"

"A simple one," came the reply. "If you are truly in exile, it may cause you some… discomfort, or shame, perhaps even a little danger. But if all that is a bluff, then it will cost you nothing." He paced a little distance from them and turned around, his face hard. "Know this: if I had time, I would beat the truth out of you, stranger – healer – whatever you are. But I do not wish to while away the days on that. I wish for this to be completed, and quickly."

They waited impatiently for him to continue, which he did. "You are to return to Ithilien, to deliver a message from me to the elves there."

Legolas and Aragorn stole a quick look at each other before looking at Sarambaq again.

"The message is for the murderous elven king," Sarambaq said, delighted at the sight of the elf stiffening. "Oh, I know he will be there, I am certain word would have reached him. And if he is not when you arrive, he will go there soon, you just need to wait."

"And what is the message?" Aragorn asked in a clipped tone.

"Just this: that he should come to this place immediately."

Legolas and Aragorn tensed. The summons that they expected had come at last.

"He is to come alone," Sarambaq continued. "You, healer, are not to return here."

The reaction from Aragorn was immediate, though he tried to keep his tone neutral. "But how shall he know – ?"

"Again, you level an insult on me. I will send men with you, of course, and they shall ride back here with the king." The man paused, stressing his next warning: "Tell the elves: if I should see a hint of anyone else riding with them, or if I should fail to hear from my men within three days, in which case I shall assume they have been held captive..." he turned to Legolas and finished the warning: "I will slit his throat faster than you can say 'Elf'."

_You are one sick spawn of an orc with the blackness of Mordor and the decency of a warg's behind, _thought Aragorn, fuming, a fresh wave of fear for Legolas' safety washing over him at the same time. He looked at the elf, who returned his gaze with calm acceptance.

_How am I to leave you, mellon nin, _the Ranger lamented in his heart, _knowing what this mad man is capable of?_

_Go, _the elf said with his eyes and a slight tilt of his head.

"Can you not send someone else in my place?" Aragorn asked Sarambaq, making one more attempt to stay with his friend. "His wounds – "

"Gah, I am past caring about those!" came the angry response. "And it would be difficult for my men to make it past the borders of Ithilien, for the elves would not have forgotten their faces so soon. They might be shot full of arrows on sight if they did not have you with them! Your coming here, therefore, was as another gift to me, for you are now a surer way now for my message to be delivered. So think no further about refusing this task – or you yourself will perish here without any regrets on my part! Now – choose!"

Aragorn's turmoil doubled, but he knew, like Legolas had earlier, that he had no choice other than to obey. The elf caught his eye again and repeated his encouragement: _Go._

The Ranger bowed his head in defeat. "I will go," he stated reluctantly. "But let me first leave enough materials for him to see to his wounds… please…" Aragorn begged, his dignity nothing in the face of his anxiety at leaving Legolas alone among uncaring men.

For some reason, the Ranger turned to Närum, beseeching him silently. The look of displeasure had not left his face since his entrance to the cave, but as he now looked at the two friends, a trace – just a slight shadow – of sympathy brushed across his features.

"I will bring him out," he said unexpectedly to Sarambaq.

Sarambaq turned on him with a scathing reminder: "You brought him here in the first place! Little do I have on which to base my trust in you again!"

"He helped the men, regardless," Närum retorted, a little defiantly but careful to keep his voice down. "And he has done nothing thus far to endanger us. I will not move from this very spot till I bring him out to you. And you do want to keep the elf prince alive still, is that not so?"

The two Adhûnians – of almost equal height, with Sarambaq just a shade heftier – eyed each other silently for a moment, but Sarambaq was the first to speak again.

"So be it, Närum," he said to the captain of the men he knew he depended on, "but he must leave in a short while. I will not stand for any more delays." And with that, without another look at the elf and the Ranger, he turned and stormed out of the cave, face as dark as storm clouds.

After his departure, Närum turned back to the two friends and said sternly: "Do your work quickly, healer, and do not cost me my head."

Aragorn stood and nodded his head slightly to the Adhûnian. "Thank you," he said simply.

The Adhûnian's expression did not soften. "I need not your thanks, healer. And you have not mine, for I was beguiled by you. But consider this payment for the services you rendered my companions."

"You have my thanks, nevertheless," the Ranger insisted. "You are a far more decent man than he would ever be, Närum." He moved to prepare the things Legolas would need to dress his wounds in the next two or three days, for that was how long he was willing to leave the elf, and no longer; he would return somehow.

"Who are you, Hama?" the Adhûnian asked, catching both the elf and Ranger off-guard. The two glanced briefly at each other before the Ranger responded.

"You may find out when the time is right, Närum, but for now, let us just say I am one who would rather see this end without bloodshed – on both sides," he said cautiously as he worked. "As you value your companions…" he continued, looking at Legolas, "I value mine." This was the first time he had openly admitted his friendship with the elf, and he hoped this fact would be enough to justify his façade, even without the details.

With a heavy heart, the Ranger started to explain the use of the linen and herbs to his friend, but Legolas stopped him, careful not to mention Aragorn's real name as he said: "I have watched you… I know what to do."

Sadness and anger gripped the Ranger as he gathered his things and prepared to leave, feeling like he was abandoning his friend. He regretted having to depart without Anduril as well, and resolved to come back for it later. Even if he had it now, attempting anything at this point would be foolish: they were trapped in a cave, with a horde of men outside, and the elf could fight no longer. The message, too, had to be delivered, and quickly.

As Aragorn walked about, Närum watched him quietly, his hand moving to rest on the hilt of his sword.

Noting his apprehension, Aragorn assured him: "You have nothing to fear from me, Närum. I just need to speak briefly with the elf prince, and I will depart."

Närum nodded slightly and turned to face the other wall, giving the two companions a chance to say their farewells. He did not voice his thoughts, but he too was tired of the whole game Sarambaq was playing; he too wished it would be over soon.

Aragorn knelt in front of the seated elf and grasped the elven shoulders once more, looking deeply into the blue eyes that were fighting despair and sorrow. Neither man nor elf knew what would happen next. They were still alive, and they would continue to hold on to each moment of hope, but both accepted that they could not yet read the page where Legolas' fate had been written.

"_Car u mereth, Legolas. Calen uva u firith," _the Ranger said, pouring as much encouragement and conviction as he could into each word. "Do not fear. Light will not fade."

The elf did not reply, afraid that his voice would break. He did not fear for himself, but for his father, and he despaired because he knew the elven king would not heed his son's plea for him to refuse Sarambaq's summons.

He did not desire for Aragorn to come back either; Dárkil must be healing, and he knew what the beast could do to the Ranger and Rallias – he knew because he had been through the torment of an attack. But he also knew he was powerless to stop the Ranger from attempting a rescue.

"Promise me something, Elf," the Ranger demanded, searching the blue eyes. "Do nothing rash while I am gone."

The elf attempted a small smile as he replied. "With my hands and feet in ropes – not likely."

But the Ranger did not smile as he held the elf's eyes and shook his shoulders gently. "Promise me."

Legolas swallowed and nodded. His hands were bound behind him, so he could not reach out to return Aragorn's grasp; he could only return Aragorn's gaze with a steady one of his own, dispelling the darkness of tomorrow with the light of his elven eyes. If this was the last time his friend saw him, he wanted his expression to be one of courage and love, and if this was the last time Aragorn would hear him speak, he wanted his words to be of hopeful promise. But before he could say anything, the Ranger embraced him and placed his forehead against the elf's.

"_Gar'estel, mellon nin_," Aragorn whispered. "Have hope."

"_Valar berio lle, aran a adanath_, _Tenna' ento lye omenta,_" Legolas whispered back. "May the Valar protect you, lord of Men, till we meet again."

Aragorn pulled away reluctantly and looked into his friend's eyes once more. "Wait for me, I will return."

With those words, he stood and turned to Närum. "I am ready," he stated. Casting his friend one last look and receiving a brave smile in return, he dragged himself out of the cave, feeling keenly the daggers that tore his heart in two, leaving part of it with a helpless elf in the gloom of uncertainty.

* * *

_Next chapter in 4 days or less. _


	29. Many Meetings

**_Note_**:

_Elbereth, Gilthoniel! _

_I feel like you guys are in cahoots to get me to update daily. _

_Perhaps 25 reviews will buy me two days? Up to the challenge? Lol! _

_But I am keeping my word again. So…_

_**Kukumalu, Shaan Lien, Evergreene, Eliza61, Deana, SmilingDragonGirl, Solo23, Slayer3, AM, Stealth67, Ainu Laire, lindahoyland, **and_ _**Shadowfax **(glad many of you liked the fight scene and shared Aragorn's sorrow), **Sabrina** and **Ali64 **(this story should come with a free box of tissues), **Ithil-valon **(please, please translate!), **RDR **(cheating – you skipped sites, lol)**, Karriya** and **Sheikan **(welcome)__and** lembas7 **(welcome, too, and yes – although it is natural for his victims to loathe him, Sarambaq is more than just a mass of pure evil; he is also a pitiable human. Glad you see him that way)_

_…here's your next chapter – a short but important one._

* * *

CHAPTER 29: MANY MEETINGS

Outside the cave that Aragorn and Legolas had shared for the past few days, a clear path led to the stables where Rallias was tethered. Yet, Aragorn felt that the walk from one place to the other today was one of the longest and most difficult he had ever had to make in his life.

Each step he took away from the cave was torture, as if his legs were chained to several full metal chests, and with each inch he moved forward, he had to fight hard not to turn back, for he was being forced to leave behind the friend he most loved, to undertake a task for the man who – in a moment of madness – might well bring about the demise of that friend.

Unshed tears blurred his vision of the path underfoot, but soon – and too quickly for his liking – he found himself at the stables, where Pöras and Brûyn were already waiting for him. His heart fell when he realized that the unpleasant men were to be his companions to Ithilien. Hiding his displeasure and accepting what he could not refuse, Aragorn focused on harnessing Rallias silently and thinking about his elven friend. Närum, who had walked from the cave with Aragorn, stood nearby, silent and pensive. Several other men armed with bows and swords were positioned around the Ranger, allowing him no opportunity for a surprise attack.

"You will reach Ithilien by the afternoon of tomorrow, if you do not stop for long," Sarambaq interrupted his thoughts suddenly, approaching him. "If the elven king is not there yet, make sure he comes within three days, remember. I will wait no longer than that."

"You assume much, Sarambaq. I can only hope he is already there, for the sake of his son," Aragorn said angrily.

"Impudent boor!" came the reply. "If you know what is good for you, be thankful that you get to live because of this task, and you had best depart before I change my mind and have you skewered!"

"You should know that you will not get away with this," Aragorn boldly reminded him. "Even if you take their lives, you and your men will be destroyed, for everyone in the elven realm will hunt you for the rest of your life. Will you not reconsider this one last time?"

At these words, Närum tensed, and many of the men looked expectantly at their Master. Pöras and Brûyn, however, laughed dryly, clearly unmoved. The crazed look they had seen in Sarambaq's eyes two days ago came back as he took a step closer to the Ranger.

"You know little of what matters to me, and you know nothing of what I have made ready!" the large man said with a sneer. "Let your sole concern be delivering the message I gave you: I want the elf king here – alone. And when he is here, he shall beg me for mercy after all these years. Tell me then to think about fearing the wrath of the elven realm!"

Aragorn thought it best not to rile him any more, for he would not be here to lend his friend any aid should the man decide to vent his anger on the elf.

Seeing Aragorn fall silent, Sarambaq turned his attention to Pöras and Brûyn: "Do not return without the elf king," he instructed. "Let nothing divert you from that goal."

"Of course not, Master. I will not fail you," Pöras said.

"_We_ will not fail you," Brûyn added, not to be outdone, seething silently. After all, was he not the one who had designed the capture of the elf prince?

From where he stood, Närum interjected unexpectedly with a request of his own. "If the healer can ask for Ködil's release from wherever he is being held, bring him back with you."

"Ködil?" Pöras queried skeptically. "Will that not delay us, if we have to negotiate his release?"

Närum's look hardened as he glowered at Pöras. "He is one of our own, he must return," he countered boldly, looking towards Sarambaq.

Sarambaq did not seem too pleased with this suggestion, but noticing the anticipation in the faces of Närum and the other men, save Pöras, he decided to concede. "Do it if he does not slow you down," he instructed. Närum seemed satisfied with this concession, and kept quiet again.

The Ranger finished tightening his pack on Rallias and started to lead him toward the path out of the woods, under the watchful eye of the armed men. As Pöras received final instructions from Sarambaq, he quickly turned to Närum and whispered one final plea to the man, throwing his pride to the wind:

"I beg you, please, in my absence, to take care of the elf prince. It was not he who brought this on, please remember that, and you shall receive my gratitude when the time is right."

Närum furrowed his brow. He could not understand the final part of the healer's supplication, but he did not want to press, for it would only mean another sickening outburst from Sarambaq, which he could do without. Partly because he wanted the healer to leave quickly and partly because he sensed some inexplicable truth in what the man had claimed, he nodded his assent discreetly, daring only to say quickly: "Get Ködil released, and we will be even."

Aragorn nodded now, almost imperceptibly. As satisfied as he could be with the bargain he had struck under the circumstances, Aragorn mounted his horse and threw one last regretful look in the direction of the cave where Legolas sat alone. With a heart as heavy as lead, he set off with the ambitious Pöras and Brûyn, wishing sadly that it was Legolas beside him instead.

Sarambaq and his men watched their departure till the figures had gone deeper into the woods and were lost among the trees.

Now that he truly had to leave the place, Aragorn forced himself to push his fears for Legolas aside, and to think about reaching the City as soon as possible so that he could design a plan to help the elf. In his heart was a fervent prayer that Thranduil was on his way and that the elf king would have fulfilled his request.

Before long, their horses were trotting out of the woods and on to the plain where Legolas had first encountered the Adhûnians. It was here that the elf had first succumbed to the poison and injuries inflicted upon him, and the memory of the collapsing figure cut Aragorn's heart like a cold steel blade, for the elf was once again in a precarious position, far from aid. Determined to observe Sarambaq's three-day ultimatum, the Ranger turned a cold, unsmiling face to the two men with him and said in a tone that invited no debate: "We ride fast, and I will not stop unless it is a matter of life and death. Follow me as you will, but I shall not wait."

And without another word, he spurred Rallias on, swiftly retracing his journey over plain and through forest, leaving the men no time to consider any other option but to ride furiously after him, for they could not turn back now.

As he had forewarned, the Ranger stopped for neither meal nor rest that eve and night, for a fire was in his veins, a pain was in his heart, and both fueled him far greater than food or drink could. Hunger and tiredness held no meaning for the Ranger as the hours passed, to the consternation of the two Adhûnians. But in the wee hours of the morning, when they had reached the edge of the old battle plain near the southern edge of the Reclaimed Lands, they made camp to let their horses rest, and the two Adhûnians wasted no time in wolfing down a quick cold meal.

It was thus, under the light of a red rising sun that greeted the new day, that King Elessar met the company of men and elves led by Hamille, who had followed their tracks this far.

Joyous was their meeting with him, and relief flooded the elven hearts when they heard that their prince was alive, but the news of Sarambaq's intentions filled them with ire and anxiety.

Bryûn quickly found himself a captive once more, along with his companion. This they had been prepared for, secure in the knowledge that their captivity would not be for long as they assured themselves and reminded the chagrined elves who would have slain them for their treachery, that their safe – and uninhibited – return was pivotal to the survival of their elf prince.

But it was there, while listening to the talk among the men of Gondor and elves of Ithilien, that the Adhûnians learnt at last, to their utter shock, the true lineage of the healer they had known as Hama, whom they had laughed at and scorned. This was knowledge that Aragorn no longer found necessary to hide, for their coming meeting with Ködil would undoubtedly reveal all.

At the insistence of the King of Gondor, the group rested no more, but pushed themselves and the two angry Adhûnians to ride with all speed back to the White City, although each yard was a painful one away from the elf prince they longed to see again, he who now sat alone and forlorn in captivity.

Eventually, under an afternoon sun that shone upon the white walls of the Gondorian city, Aragorn was once more enveloped in the warm, loving embrace and kisses of his wife and son, and greeted with joy by a highly relieved Steward. It gave him immense satisfaction too, to order accommodations for Pöras and Brûyn in the dungeons of Minas Tirith till it was time for their departure.

But after the reunions, little joy then did Aragorn find in the warm fragrant bath drawn for him, for he knew of an elf who would have delighted in it were he were; nor could he savor the hot meal served to him while he thought of a beloved friend who would be tasting naught but water and cold bread in misery and darkness, if he was fed at all in his absence. When the healers gently tended to his bruises, he wept for the noble elf who had fought heart and soul for his release, whose hurts the healing hands of the king should be soothing with all the love they could give, but who was now left to see to his own wounds. And when the King finally lay his weary head on a soft, clean pillow, it was with a sorrow that was little assuaged by the pleasure of being home. The comfortable bed was as a floor of nails, cutting painfully into a heart that bled for a missing, ailing companion dressed in dirty, bloodied clothes and lying on the cold, hard floor of a cave. Silent tears wet his pillow as his eyes closed, and only his deep exhaustion and the comforting caress of Arwen's hands prevented haunted dreams from assailing his restless mind.

At twilight, Aragorn awoke from a sleep like that of the dead, to find that two visitors had been waiting to see him, having arrived hours ago just after he had retired, but who had been asked very politely to allow a worn-out Lord Elessar a few hours of rest.

The king walked into his council room to see his Steward, councilors and elves in deep discussion. But tonight, he only had eyes for one of the waiting visitors, who sat among them, his face drawn and wan with sorrow and anguish from the news he had been furnished.

Aragorn moved to stand in front of him, who likewise rose to face him. After the first exchange of formalities and respectful words, he ascertained that the second visitor had been accorded all the comforts the City could provide, then led the first one to his private office.

Upon entering it, the Lord of Gondor hesitated only a moment before he stepped forward to warmly grasp the hands of one with whom he had only exchanged nods and bows before today.

Aragorn's own eyes misted over as he spoke once more to the shaken father:

"I wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances, my Lord Thranduil."


	30. Kings and Alliances

**_Note to reviewers_**:

_You guys truly, truly, truly want updates, don't you?_

_I have to take my hat off to all of you, who actually did meet the 25-review challenge in 1½ days, though I was hoping for two! So I kind of broke my promise to post as soon as the number was reached – eeeeee – but I am posting this in less than 4 days, so I hope I have your forgiveness:_

**_Invisigoth, Ali, AM, Slayer3, Brina, Ainu Laire, Sheikan, kukumalu, Elf771_** _(glad your math is safe),_ _**viggomaniac, Kelsey Estel, lindahoyland, templa otmena,** **beling2, shadowfax2931, lili, evergreene, elfchick08, Snow-Glory, RDR, Deana, SmilingDragonGirl **and** anonymous.**_

_**Lembas7: **Thank you for bringing the matter up. I used 'Thranduil' because they were in a private office and not in front of others, but this was actually something I had debated on with myself long before this, so, since I now have another opinion, I will go with "My Lord" – I agree with you that it is more fitting, although I will allow T to address Aragorn by his name alone sometimes. _: – ) _I also remembered that the use of the more formal title would be more appropriate for what will happen later… but that is another (chapter in the) story. _

_**Kirsten: **Yes, the explanation follows each Elvish phrase (I don't like putting the meaning in parentheses – just being stubborn, I guess, lol). _

_**Ithil-valon: **Thank you for the translation, mellon nin, but I certainly hope you will not be "wee"- ing till we meet again, Lol! May I have your permission to use the phrase later in the story? _

* * *

CHAPTER 30: KINGS AND ALLIANCES

Dawn could not come fast enough for Thranduil the next day, for that was when he would leave for the Table with the three Adhûnian prisoners.

Late into the previous night – with the prisoners safely in the dungeons, much to their displeasure –two kings, a Steward, and elves of the Greenwood and Ithilien had convened to discuss options and make plans.

"_I have little choice but to follow Sarambaq's instructions," Thranduil stated calmly. "I will ride there as he demands. What happens after…" _

_The sentence was left unfinished, for he could not foresee the ending; no one did, yet the possible conclusion weighed heavily on each of their minds. _

_Everyone in the room could only feel deep sympathy for King Thranduil, who was torn inside. _

_When they began, Thranduil, in his anguish and anger, could not help making slight reference to his belief that his son would not be in this predicament if he had not insisted on settling in Ithilien instead of remaining in their stronghold in the Greenwood, for Sarambaq would not have dared to launch any assault on their northern realm. Aragorn diplomatically chose to feign ignorance of that reference, both because he was more concerned with what they needed to do now rather than dwell on what could have been, and because he was also well aware of how he himself, when his son lay a helpless victim of a poisoned dart, had spoken with careless abandonment. And weighing a little on his heart, too, was a feeling of guilt, as he asked himself if there might be some truth in the elven king's lament._

_The more they talked, however, the more Thranduil saw the affection and care the Lord of Gondor obviously held for his son, and he was comforted and grateful, even in his grief. Neither could he ignore the fact that Aragorn had gone after his son, saved his life and stayed with him through the danger, leaving only when he had no other choice. _

"_I appreciate your thanks, my Lord, but I must in all honesty decline it," Aragorn had responded graciously when the king voiced his gratitude. "Legolas would have done no less for me. Such matters should not count at all between us." _

_The matter was indeed dropped immediately, for, ultimately, a greater concern for the rescue of Legolas overcame all other thought in the minds of Thranduil and Aragorn. At the moment, there was no higher priority for them than the safe return of the son and the friend they loved. _

_But for Thranduil's subjects, the safety of their king – who had little choice other than to ride into certain danger – was of no less importance. _

_And for the Steward of Gondor, the survival of his own king – who would have had to be bound hand and foot in heavy chains to be stopped from returning to the Table – was his first concern. _

_All in all, everyone in the Council room at Minas Tirith was tense and worried, but determined not to sit idly by while the king and prince became victims of an obsessed mind bent on obtaining revenge at all costs. He wanted their deaths, they concluded, but they would do everything they could to prevent that._

_It was ultimately the Lord of the White Tree who was most instrumental in crafting a strategy to bring aid to the father and son, for he alone had been into the predator's den. _

_At the end of the discussions, a plan had been made and agreed upon, but now Aragorn turned to Thranduil with the same apologetic look that he had given Legolas the morning of the previous day, after the two companions had made their own plan of escape. _

"_My Lord…" Aragorn began as hesitantly as he had then, "our plan – "_

_And just as the elf prince had done, so did his father now as the king stopped Aragorn and said in a tone of understanding and acceptance: "I know, Elessar, there can be no surety of its success, and I demand none. It is enough that we try. But know this – " he paused to hold Aragorn's eyes with his own, " – as my son trusts you, so shall I."_

_The king of Gondor felt a lump at his throat, for never before had the father of his friend made such a pronouncement of his faith in him. Even more keenly now did he feel the bitterness of his and Legolas' foiled attempt to escape from the Table._

"_I fear that your faith may be ill-placed, my Lord," he said humbly, "for I failed to – " _

"_No one can ask more of you than a sincere attempt, Lord Elessar," Thranduil interjected kindly, "and I can place the life of my son in no better hands than those of the people who love him, as I know you do." _

"_I would give my life for his," Aragorn stated firmly. _

_The elf king nodded. "Then my faith is well placed," he affirmed._

_And with those words, they all retired with uneasy hearts to comfortless beds, to obtain a few hours' rest before facing whatever the new day would bring._

Now, in the chilly dawn of a new day, a small crowd of elves and Gondorians gathered to bid a tense farewell to the golden-haired elven king, who waited beside a snow-white horse.

Thranduil stood straight and tall, his radiant hair lifting slightly in the misty breeze, looking every bit as regal and imposing as the human kings of old immortalized in the stone figures of the Argonath. But embodied within the lean, sturdy frame, and pulsing in the intense eyes of the Lord of Mirkwood, was the power of a living king illuminated by the light of elven dignity and wisdom – he who had lived during the splendour of Doriath, survived the rise and fall of the kingdom, and ruled over the forest realm for long years – so that all who looked on him could not help but be awed, and even intimidated, by his presence. The King of Gondor alone, with his own darker but no less resplendent stature, felt not the intimidation; yet, a quiet respect did he, too, pay to the sagacity and great age of the elf king who had seen and lived through tens of thousands more joys and sorrows than he ever would.

Side by side they now stood in the golden light of a Gondorian sunrise, composed expressions masking the anguish beneath, surrounded by nobles of the City and the largest group of fair, elvish figures to grace the courtyard of Minas Tirith since the wedding of Elessar Telcontar and Arwen Undomiel. Had Sarambaq himself witnessed this sight, and felt the cold morning air throb with the collective wrath of two kingdoms that his malicious actions had evoked, even he might have been a little daunted.

It was this scene that greeted the three Adhûnians as they walked slowly into the courtyard, having been released from the dungeons amidst their complaints and without the courtesy of a meal to break their fast. When they saw the grave faces gathered there, looking at them in aversion, they grew silent and a little fearful despite their earlier confidence.

The crowd watched as the three men looked at each other nervously, each unwilling to be the one to voice the message that needed to be conveyed. But Pöras, regaining his arrogance, cleared his throat and spoke up at last:

"My master Sarambaq's instructions were that the elven king must be bound when he approaches our camp."

The other two Adhûnians cringed at the volume and intensity of the protest from the elves around there, and they stepped closer to Pöras, who tried to appear unfazed. The King of Gondor looked ready to behead all three of them as he stated with his most authoritative voice:

"Your master may dictate terms in his own domain, but King Thranduil is an honored guest in the White City, and he shall not leave it in any other manner save as a free person, unbound and unfettered."

Pöras looked ready to throw in a warning when the voice of the elven king himself stopped him. Thranduil was livid, yet the venerable elf king pulled himself to his full height, maintaining his august deportment, and stated calmly in a manner that would bear no argument:

"I know why your cowardly master would wish for me to be bound when we near your camp, for that is the only way a small mongrel would dare to face the dragon it is challenging. I am loathe to entertain such a cowardly being, yet I must…" he said this more for the sake of those who feared for his safety, rather than the three Adhûnians, "… for he holds in his filthy hands one whom I love more than my life. Therefore, I will agree to be bound when we near the approach to your camp. But till then, I am – as King Elessar has so kindly declared – still in the realm of Gondor, and I will not leave it as a captive.

"Those are my terms, my only terms. You can elect to abide by them and bring me to your master as he demands, or you can refuse them and die by my sword at this very spot, after which I would still ride to confront him. Now, choose swiftly, for I am eager to see my son."

The three men did not need a second invitation to indicate their choice. Without another squeak from them, they mounted the two horses they had come on, with Brûyn and Ködil sharing a steed.

Hiding a grin he could not help, Aragorn approached Thranduil and bid him a silent farewell with a hand to his chest and a respectful lowering of his head. They needed no exchange of words, for all had been said the previous night. But through his eyes, Thranduil told the king and the Ranger that he was entrusting the success of their plan to him.

Hamille was the last to speak to his king before he departed. "We will meet again soon, _Aran nin_, my king," he said in a slightly shaky voice, placing his hand on his chest and bowing low. "I beg you to take no unnecessary risks, and please greet our beloved prince for us."

The king nodded, sweeping his eyes over the group of elves whose heads were all bowed in respect and sorrow. "May the Valar be with us all," he said, his posture straight and stately despite the care he carried.

The rising sun lit the golden hair of the elf king with a dazzling radiance that lingered on him even after he became a small figure riding past the Great Gates of the City on a northern route to his destination and an uncertain conclusion.

Hamille turned to Faramir after the king had left. "Did I not tell you that he would be here sooner than you think?" he asked, forcing a smile. The two laughed to dispel the gloom they felt. "I would have expected him even sooner, truth be told, and I can imagine how hard it must have been for him to have had to wait till he could leave Mirkwood."

"The other elves will arrive some time tomorrow, I guess?" Faramir enquired.

"Aye, and I would be grateful if you could brief them on all that is happening, my friend."

"Indeed I will, and the citadel is open to them for as long as they need," Faramir replied graciously.

They walked away from the courtyard to another part of the grounds surrounding the citadel, where the rest of the elves had now gathered, and where they had kept hidden what they had not wanted the Adhûnians to see.

Aragorn was already there, an unmovable resolve in his grey eyes. "Shall we?" he asked Hamille.

And with a nod from Hamille, they put into motion their plan. The time had come again for stealth.

* * *

Sarambaq watched with satisfaction as Dárkil landed in front of him and settled down to some fresh meat that had been placed on the Table as a reward. He was mending nicely, and his master was confident that it would be strong enough to carry out the last phase of his plan. The Adhûnian left his beast to enjoy its food, and looked out over the tops of trees.

With but one day and night left till he came face to face with the elven king he was luring to his stronghold, Sarambaq could almost see in his mind's eye the approaching figure of a bound and humbled elven king, repentant, and eager to beg him for mercy.

_He should be here by tomorrow, if the three oafs have carried out everything according to plan,_ he thought. _It has been a long time in coming. _He could hardly wait, pacing impatiently, and if the floor of the Rock had been able to speak, it would have protested the repeated scruff of his shoes against its surface.

His thoughts strayed to the elf prince in the cave. After their fight two days ago, the Adhûnian had been shocked, to say the least, to see how unrelenting in his will the elf had been, and how much strength he still called forth despite having been so sick before. The man had decided he could not afford to take risks, and as soon as the healer had left, he had ordered little food to be given to Legolas so that he would be weakened.

Now there remained just one more step he had to take.

* * *

In the depressing dimness of the cave where he stayed alone, Legolas sat with bowed head, singing softly to himself in a resolute attempt to keep his spirits up.

Two suns had risen since Aragorn left, and despite the elf's courage and resilience, it had been torturous for him to pass the long hours with no knowledge of what was happening outside and no friendly faces to give him some reprieve from the cold company of the cave walls.

Ever so often during those long, empty hours, he thought about Aragorn and nursed the hope that his friend had returned safely to the City of his realm. He imagined the warm welcome the Ranger would have received upon his arrival, and his own elven heart lightened a little at the thought of his friend's elation. He envisioned the smile on the face of a little boy as he greeted his father, and he felt comforted, even though his own smiles had long forsaken him. When he closed his eyes, he could see the light on the fair face of Arwen and hear the pure voices of his elven kin in Ithilien and the Greenwood, and his heart lifted in song with theirs as they sang a tribute to Earendil, to Elbereth and to her lamps in the sky. These were the memories, these were the visions that gave him strength in the darkness of the cave when all other lights went out.

But whenever the face of his father came into his mind, and the lordly countenance appeared before his closed eyes, full of love, but lined with care and anguish as it must be at the knowledge of his captivity, it was then that Legolas' heart failed him and threatened to plunge into despair. It was then that the elf prince, whose clear voice had graced human ears with uplifting songs and silvery laughter even during the darkest hours of the Quest ten years ago, felt overwhelmed by the ominous fate which hovered above him and his father like a dark beast awaiting the right moment to strike. For he could not yet see a way out of this tight, deadly web that Sarambaq had woven, into which his father was being drawn.

Then, to dispel the gloom of his thoughts, Legolas would sing softly, trying to keep the sorrow out of his shaky voice and the dread from his heart. He sang of his home and of mountains and rivers and of beauty outside this cave which was now his prison, so that the melodies he wove would be his companions in the absence of his loved ones, and a soothing balm to the many hurts his body bore, when no healer's hands were there to tend to them.

The only person who had shown him any kindness during his lonely captivity was Närum, who freed his hands briefly when he needed to change his bandages, and then only at the most discreet of times. Seeking to keep his part of the bargain with a healer, the man stood guard over the cave at night instead of assigning the task to someone else so that he would have his eye on the elf as often as he could. No other aid could he offer the elf without raising suspicion, and so Legolas treated with his own hands those wounds he could reach, and the ones on his back that he could not reach he left untouched, bearing the pain with stoicism, and missing the gentle hands of the healer who had nursed them earlier.

By the evening of the second day after Aragorn's departure, and the eve of his father's expected arrival, he was hungry, cold and in great discomfort, for his bound hands and legs ached when they were not numb. It was at this time, near sunset, when he received his one and only visit from Sarambaq.

No one had expected his visit, least of all Legolas himself, and the elf was taken aback at the sight of the man at the cave entrance. As the figure walked over, towering over the bound and seated captive, Legolas felt rather than saw the intensity of the spite on the Adhûnian's face, and his blood ran cold. When three other men came up silently behind him, one of them carrying something in his hands, the elf went weak, for in that moment, he knew what the Adhûnian had come to do.

By the time Närum returned to the cave after a quick meal, Sarambaq and the three men with him had finished the task, and they left without a word. It was from the two remaining guards that Närum learnt of Sarambaq's deed, and though the men did not fully understand the intent behind it, even they shook their heads at the heartlessness of it.

The elf prince sat alone again, head bowed once more in dejection, for in him now arose a suspicion of Sarambaq's true purpose. He perceived an act of careful cunning born of reckless hate, and the depth of the man's cruelty almost took away the last traces of his hope and spirit. Only the thoughts of his father and his friend kept him from falling into the depths of despair, and he held on, drawing strength from some unknown well as he waited for some suspected but yet unannounced fate.

A distance away, in a curious blood-red sea of light from the setting sun, Legolas' father and his closest friend, through the strength of their bonds with one they loved, felt a sudden and great unease in their hearts. They knew not what had assailed Legolas, but they sensed deeply his anguish, and it spurred them on even as it threatened to crush their hopes.

* * *

Thranduil and his three guards had ridden ceaselessly through the day, for the elven king rode so fast on his white mount that the three men had no choice but to follow as closely as they could on their own steeds, cursing the whole way.

The Adhûnians, despite knowing that they now dictated the course of events, found it hard to bear the scathing remarks and scornful looks of an impatient, imposing Thranduil. Ködil had fought against him before and could not help being in awe of him even after all these years, and they rode as hard or as fast as the king wanted, at times no longer sure who was driving whom on.

But the closer they got to the stronghold of his master, the bolder Pöras grew, and when they came to the last stretch of forest before the plain leading to the Table, he called for a rest, for night had fallen, and Thranduil would not have known a way through the forest no matter how much he wished to go on.

Pöras now smugly reminded the king of their agreement, and this time, even Thranduil's stern gaze was no longer a deterrent; he had to be bound, or he would not see his son. With a small sense of satisfaction over the king's reluctance, they tied his hands and feet, and let him spend a sleepless night against the trunk of a tree with his hands behind him. And when morning came, they loosed only the ropes around his ankles so that he could ride, and they could not hide their surprise that even without the use of reins, the elf king could stay on his horse and guide it with just a word.

The thoughts of the three Adhûnians now turned to the coming encounter between the elven king and their master. They were aware of how long this meeting had been designed and looked forward to it with perverse glee.

Preoccupied with their anticipation of a thrilling scene, they never perceived the group of skilled men and elves, led by the King of Gondor, who rode silently less than a league behind them. And while Thranduil and his three guards penetrated the forest to reach the Table from the west and around the curve of the gully as was their habit, the small alliance of men and elves took a longer and unused route, staying in the trees and carefully out of sight to approach the Table through the thick woods in the south.

Neither were the Adhûnians aware of another small group of four elves – the best archers from Ithilien and Mirkwood, save their prince – who were also converging on the Table, but following yet another path. Ever in the archers' minds were Aragorn's specific instructions:

_Watch and wait, and stay unseen – till the time is right. _

Till the time was right.

A dangerous game designed by an obsessed mind – to be played by several parties, with and without the knowledge of the designer – was about to begin.

* * *

****

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**_Note_**:

_Next – the confrontation._

_Now, bad news and not-so-bad news:_

_I will be out of town for a few days, so I will not be able to post the climactic chapter(s) till Monday night of next week at the earliest._

_BUT…_

_… when I do, I will post it ALL, as one chapter or two, because I decided that leaving you with a cliff-hanger would be tantamount to an act of homicide on my cherished readers. : – ) It will be a long confrontation, so – coffee/brandy/heart meds are recommended._

_See you then, and have a good weekend!_


	31. Confrontation

**_Note to reviewers_**:

_**Ainu Laire, SmilingDragonGirl** (mm yes, it did feel like the Black Gate a little, didn't it), **lindahoyland, slayer3, kukumalu, Deana** (no, his hair is saved, but…), **Kelsey Estel, Ali64, AM, Moe **(thank you for offering your own insights), **invisigoth3, Ithil-valon, Yavariel Tarandir, Kirsten, templa otmena, Brina, eliza61, Kirsten Z, lembas7 **(ummm, not quite sure what you meant re Thranduil, but the metaphors were exactly what I wanted him to use to show his disdain for Sarambaq; thanks for the pointer to the site, have not checked it out, though; too busy writing this), **Red Squirrel** and **Evergreene.**_

_Thank you, all. __Everyone still alive from the waiting ? _:–)

_**Emily, Neko of Doom, Bulldogodiva: **Welcome, and thank you for your support._

_Sorry I could not make it on Monday night as I'd hoped – but here are the chapters as I promised them: looooong, and without killer cliffies at the end. _:–)

* * *

CHAPTER 31: CONFRONTATION 

A listless sun rose on the Table that morning, its beams not trying very hard to pierce through the blanket of clouds that spread across the sky above the woods and the plain. Yet, the grey dawn seemed to Sarambaq to be a fitting herald of a momentous occasion.

For this was the day.

This would be the day – if all went according to plan – that the elven king of the Mirkwood Realm would deign to come into his domain, perhaps even beg for mercy, but certainly to fulfill a decade-old desire.

Sarambaq's mind was fixed on nothing else but that thought, and the mid-morning meal he was eating tasted like stale boar spit in his mouth. But even if it had been the most delicately cooked pheasant in the world, he would have abandoned it as readily as he did when a shout from outside his cave disrupted his thoughts.

His heart raced when his men gave him the reason for their beckoning him.

Thranduil – golden-haired elf king and murderer of his son – was here.

At last. At last.

Sarambaq had waited for this moment so long that he was somewhat surprised at the mixture of bitter bile, nervous jitters and boundless hate that rose in his throat; he thought that by now, he would feel nothing but the utmost calm.

No matter. He was here. The fly was walking into the web.

"Ready yourselves now!" he shouted his command to the men around the Table. A sense of nervous excitement was in the air as they moved quickly to execute the instructions he had given earlier.

In minutes, he was mounted on a screeching Dárkil and soaring over the plain before the Table where days earlier, the son of the king had walked into the same trap.

* * *

Largely due to the skill and shrewd timing of the Ranger, Aragorn and his small company of elves had kept completely to the cover of trees in the western woods. They now turned northwards to penetrate the borders of the thick forest directly south of the Table that the Adhûnians never used, constantly shielded from the eyes of Dárkil by the mass of tall foliage.

* * *

The three horses bearing four riders grew larger in Sarambaq's vision as Dárkil descended, the long, golden hair on one of the four a sight he had seen only in his nightmares for the past ten years.

Sarambaq saw them dismount, the elven king with characteristically more grace than his three unfettered guards, despite having his hands tied at his back. When the king was on the ground, he stood with legs apart, the long blades of Pöras and Bryûn planted at his neck and chest. He looked around for someone he could not see, and his eyes finally rested with undisguised curiosity and disdain on the dark figure alighting from the screeching monstrosity that had been airborne moments ago.

Sarambaq walked slowly towards Thranduil, each step deliberate and firm. He halted when he was three yards from his foe.

In the silence that followed, the two adversaries faced each other, a hundred unspoken words between them longing to be said, but neither able to begin, for both were seething with anger and hate, one having nursed those emotions for ten years, the other having felt them gush forth just days ago, after receiving some of the most ill tidings of his life.

"So," Sarambaq said, breaking the silence. "We meet at last, Elf king."

"Where is my son?" Thranduil demanded without ceremony, now that the confrontation had begun. Even in his anger, his elven voice was sonorous and majestic, creating an aura of splendor that swept over the plain and the Adhûnians present.

In contrast, Sarambaq snorted and sneered lopsidedly in answer, offering no information. Adhûnians came filing onto the plain from the woods before the Table, in silent awe at the sight of the two great figures. All of them were armed with swords or bows, most knew what to expect, but none possessed complete knowledge of Sarambaq's intentions.

"Where is my son?" Thranduil repeated more loudly, feeling impatient at the absence of the face he sought. Every fibre of his being longed to rush at Sarambaq, but he could try nothing with his hands tied and without knowledge of where Legolas was being held.

"Patience, Elf," Sarambaq said with mock placation. "You are no longer king here. I decide when you see him."

Thranduil evaluated the situation, looking around carefully so that the blade at his neck would not have reason to make an accidental and fatal slash. More Adhûnians circled him and Sarambaq now, forming a barricade against any attempt at escape. Victory in a hand-to-hand combat against this many men – if his hands were free – would still be conceivable, but even with elven prowess, it would be hard to evade arrows from that many bows, Thranduil realized. Any hope of liberating himself was further crushed when two men came and immobilized his arms within ropes tied around his torso. Banishing the possibility of escape from his mind, he turned his thoughts to his son.

_Where are you, Legolas? _Thranduil wondered worriedly, recalling the vague feeling of unease he had felt last night.

Before he could ask again, Brûyn called out to Sarambaq. "Speaking of being king, Master…" he began hesitantly, meaning to reveal what they had learnt about the true identity of the healer they had called Hama. But he paused to clear his throat, uncertain what to say.

"What?" Sarambaq prompted impatiently.

"The healer…" Brûyn continued, looking almost embarrassed "…he is not really a healer. I mean, he is not just a healer. He…"

"Graaah, just spit it out, oaf!" Pöras cut in, casting an irritated scowl at his companion before facing Sarambaq. "We found out the truth about the healer; he is not who he said he was." He drew himself up to show how apparently undaunted he was as he announced the discovery they had made. "His real name is Elessar, and he is the king of Gondor."

The sharp intakes of breath at those words were audible as shock manifested itself on the face of every Adhûnian present, save the three who had just come from the City. Seconds later, after dropped jaws had been hastily picked up from off the ground, the astonished silence was broken by loud voices as the name of Elessar sizzled in the air. Some men expressed anger that they had been beguiled, others smirked with satisfaction that their earlier suspicions about the healer's story had been right, and the remainder merely voiced wonder that a king had been among them and treated their wounds.

To Närum, who stood a little behind and to the right of the man he served, all that the healer had hinted at and promised suddenly became clear.

_You may find out when the time is right, Närum…_

_I beg you, please, in my absence, to take care of the elf prince… you shall receive my gratitude when the time is right. _

Närum shook his head slowly, recalling the regal bearing he had noticed on the stranger at their first encounter, the compassion and loyalty he had shown his elven companion, and the skilled hands of the healer as he saved wounded Adhûnians from death, despite their being his foes.

_There indeed is a king worth serving_, he thought a little sadly.

Ködil now told his tale of captivity and all that he had learnt during that time, about the little prince they had poisoned by accident, and how the Gondorians had all been mistaken about the true target of their assault on Ithilien.

Thranduil watched and listened in silence, for he had heard it all before. His eyes focused with grim satisfaction on Sarambaq, who – unnoticed by all save the elf king – had turned a shade paler at the news about Aragorn. But pride and blind resolve were still etched in every line of the man's face, a face that quickly darkened when his men continued to murmur volubly among themselves.

"Silence!" he shouted, startling everyone into the state he called for as the murmurs died immediately. Taking on as nonchalant a tone as he could, Sarambaq declared to no one in particular: "So, this Elessar must have told them everything, but it matters not now."

"Are you certain of that, man of Adhûn?" Thranduil questioned him unexpectedly. "Do you not realize by now whom you have offended?"

Sarambaq threw him a glare so sharp it could have sliced through iron, but the elf king was not intimidated.

"By your foolish acts, you have incurred the fury of two kingdoms," Thranduil pronounced in a firm voice, "for the elf you hold is not only my son but also the treasured companion of the king of Gondor, whose armies could – at a word from him – send you, your men and your dominion in Adhûn into the abyss of nothingness!"

A murmur – one of fear this time – arose among the men again when they heard the warning of the elven king, while Sarambaq himself schooled his features to hide any trepidation that he felt.

But even in his utter fury, the wise king was still willing to seek a less perilous solution for all involved.

"The elves of the Greenwood realm, the men of Rohan upon whom Elessar will call, and even the dwarf companion of my son, by whom he is much loved, would also descend upon you till nothing of yours remains," Thranduil continued, looking around at the men gathered to impress his threat upon them. "The only thing that stands now between that fatal end and your continued existence is the life of my son. As long as he lives and is returned to me, we can still conceive of a less dire conclusion for all. But if anything should happen to him – " a shadow flitted across his face as he said this " – if his life should be forfeited, fire and brimstone shall be visited upon you, that I can promise you with certainty."

And indeed, it was as if the very fire and brimstone he spoke of smoldered now in the bright, intense eyes of the elven king, so that the all the Adhûnians – save their dark master and the ones holding the king – unwittingly took a step back, nervousness tingling in their veins.

A deafening silence reigned over the group for the next few moments, till it was broken by the arrogant tones of Sarambaq. "Kings may have had dominion over me once," he said, looking pointedly at Thranduil, "and one in particular was able to take from me something of far greater value than my dignity or my domain." A flash of pain crossed his features as he said this. "But no longer. Not any more. Today, it all ends. Today, I have the final say, I decide the outcome."

Thranduil knew then that it was no longer possible to reason with the Adhûnian.

"Cease speaking in riddles then," Thranduil demanded, deflating the man's ego. "If you will not accept a more peaceful solution, make your intentions plain. Where is my son? If you have harmed him…"

"_Harmed_ him?" Sarambaq echoed, a wild look returning to his eyes. "You speak of my harming your son after you slaughtered mine?" His voice rose dangerously.

"It was war, and it must have been his life or mine; there could have been no other reason for me to take a life," Thranduil insisted.

"Too late to tell that to my son!" came the furious retort.

"Your son died a warrior. You dishonor him by doing this," Thranduil echoed the words Legolas had voiced in the cave four days ago. "Overcome your grief, man of Adhûn. That is the battle you should fight!"

"You are as insolent as your son. Do not insult me by counseling me on grief, Elf! You have not borne mine."

"You are truly mistaken if you think that I would not have known grief at the hands of others in the thousands of years I have lived," said the elven king, making one last attempt to reason with the man. "All of us have loved and lost at some point, but it is our choice whether to let it consume us and bind us in chains of hate and revenge, or to rise above it and gain wisdom from what should not have happened."

This advice of Thranduil, instead of prompting Sarambaq to reconsider his vengeful plans, nettled him even further, so strong was their grasp on him.

"Release my son," Thranduil continued, controlling his tone despite the storm beneath. "He was not part of that last battle, and you have brought me here now. He has played his part; release him."

To Thranduil's consternation, Sarambaq laughed. "Played his part?" he asked tauntingly. "Blind and prideful elf king – he has not even begun to play the most important part of all! Bring him here!"

As soon as his words were out, two men dragged into Thranduil's vision a bound and tightly gagged figure who had been hidden behind a throng of men before this. The king's heart gave a painful lurch.

"_Ion nin_, my son!" he gasped, trying to move to Legolas before being pulled back roughly by the men holding him with iron grips on his arms, the blade still dangerously pressed against his neck. He was overjoyed to look into the face of his beloved son again, but aggrieved to note that something was wrong.

Legolas was not standing as strongly erect as he should be, there was a weakness in his limbs, and his face was flushed and damp with sweat. His blue yes, usually so radiant with elven light, were also a little dulled. It wrenched his father's heart to see the clear sign of a bandage underneath his shirt, and the small patches of dried blood stains on other parts of the shirt and on the bare parts of his arms – a reminder of his earlier fight with Sarambaq.

But what alarmed the elf king most were some other strange blood stains on the front of his son's shirt: they looked like two lines crossing at the center of his chest. The sight of them made the father's own blood run cold.

_My son, what have they done to you? _the heart of the elf king called out in fear and sorrow.

"Legolas," he said aloud in a strangled voice, unable to say more. The query 'are you well' would sound hollow and useless, he thought.

Legolas had heard the earlier exchanges between his father and Sarambaq, weak with frustration that he had not been able to call out, but now, at the sight of his father and the sound of the beloved voice addressing him, his eyes came alive again and filled suddenly with gladness. Understanding his father's concern, he nodded, trying to reassure the older elf that way, for he could struggle little against the strong arms holding him back.

"What have you done to him?" Thranduil's voice was hard now as he addressed the Adhûnian.

"What would you like me to tell you?" the man offered, enjoying the torture he was inflicting on the stricken father. "Perhaps I could tell you about how he has been kept captive in a cave, without the comforts of a royal home," he said jeeringly. "Or I could tell you about he has not received much of our hospitality for the last three days, for we grew tired of feeding him."

Thranduil seethed in silence, knowing the man had more to say.

"But I did give him a treat last night," Sarambaq continued, "one I had great pleasure in delivering myself. Aaaah, you wish to know what it was?" He paused and smirked before he answered his own question. "Your son was given yet another taste of the poison of our river folk, very effective in rendering the fish helpless... for, after all, was he not my catch?"

The elf king gaped in disbelief and horror, and locked his eyes on his son's weakened form.

"Oh, it was not an extreme amount," Sarambaq explained with mock reassurance, "it was just enough to weaken him. You see, I merely had to add to what was still in his body." The man paused to gloat at Thranduil's expression of helpless wrath before he spoke again. "I could have killed him, but I reduced the potency so that he can still be on his feet today. Your son, however, was an ungrateful wretch, and he struggled. Oh, how he struggled… before he became numb."

Thranduil called out to his son, "Legolas, are you in pain?" and received a feeble shake of the head in response, but he did not quite believe the claim.

"There is only a mild fever upon him now, but I could easily send another shot or two of the poison into his veins… or perhaps a fatal dose," Sarambaq threatened coldly.

Thranduil went weak in the knees, and the fear of a father laced his voice when he protested. "He does not deserve that; he has done nothing to you."

"Are you begging me to stay the treatment, great king? Would you discard your pride, get on your knees and beg it of me?"

The elf king swallowed and looked at his son. Legolas was shaking his head vigorously, his wide eyes telling his father not to bow to Sarambaq's demands, for he had read the man's intentions last night. The Adhûnian's true desires were not yet revealed to the elf king, and he would not abandon his plans so easily; he merely wished to humiliate the king in the process.

Thranduil perceived the meaning in his son's eyes and sensed the urgent warning from his mind. The elf king turned back to the Adhûnian. "I would do anything, even beg you, if I believed that you would truly stop harming my son," he said. "But I do not know your full intentions."

A look of disappointment claimed Sarambaq's face immediately, and it was quickly followed by anger that he tried to mask behind forced laughter. "So, Woodland king, you refuse to bow even now. But no matter; your son is still in my hands, and I will do as – "

"Why have you done this?" Thranduil demanded, cutting him off. "My son has done nothing to you. He – "

"Do you feel helpless, elf king?" the Adhûnian interrupted Thranduil in turn, surprising him and taunting him. "Does the great ruler of Mirkwood feel that he is watching something which pains him but which he cannot do a thing to stop?"

At Thranduil's silence, Sarambaq stated, "If you do, high and mighty one, that is my answer."

As the elf king kept staring at him in perplexed ire, the man continued. "Helplessness, elven king, is the name of the game. As I was once helpless to stop you from destroying everything that meant something to me, you now suffer the same feeling of powerlessness as you watch me torment bit by bit that which is most dear to you."

The man's malice both stunned Thranduil and fanned into fresh fury the flames of his anger, so that any earlier desire the elf king had had at ending the feud amicably quickly vanished.

"But his torment will soon be over," Sarambaq declared, to the surprise of both elves. A spark of hope lit in Thranduil's heart, only to be cruelly snuffed out by the man's next words: "After all, what torment would an elf feel when he is dead?"

"What!" Thranduil yelled, struggling against the strong grasps on his arms. "What do you mean? Were you not merely using him to bring me here? I have come as you wished, now let him go!"

"Yes, Elf king, I did need him to lure you here, but he is not merely my bait," the man stated coldly. "He is also the instrument of the retribution you shall make."

"What do you mean?" the king repeated, his heart threatening to stop. "It is my life you desire. I fought and killed your son; he did not. It is I you want. My son had no part in it."

"That it was you who killed my son, I will not deny, you murderous wretch!" said Sarambaq, his voice rising. "But did you think your quick death here is the justice I seek? I have felt keenly the tragic loss of my son for ten years, and in no other way will I gain fulfillment unless I see you suffer the same painful, wretched existence for the rest of your immortal life!"

Father and son listened in mute horror as Sarambaq finally revealed his dark and chilling desire to them, and Legolas knew then that his suspicions from last night were, alas, correct. The malice in Sarambaq seemed to emanate out of him now, drifting about him like black vapor and cloaking him in an aura so vile that even the very air seemed to shrink from his presence. He continued to speak, enunciating every word so that there was no mistake as to his meaning.

"I have no intention of taking your life, elf king, but you shall watch me rob your beloved son of _his _last breath as you did mine. You will hear the blood gurgle in his throat and you will see his life force draining out and staining the grass beneath your feet. You will hear him call 'father' and be powerless to help him. And then, when his spirit has left his body, you will try to revive him, and you will hold him close to you and try to breathe life back into him, but in vain! You will hold only his lifeless corpse in your blood-stained hands!"

He stepped closer to Thranduil so that the elf could see the tumult of emotions raging wildly in his eyes. "But _you_ will live on, elf king. You will be the survivor who has to bear the pain and misery of a life that your young should have lived. You will be the one missing his laughter and his warmth and the arms of a son for the rest of your wretched life, and you will shed tears each time you remember how his breath was snuffed out by another who did not love him or value him as you did. _Then_, elf king – then shall my heart be glad!"

Silence reigned over the plain for long moments after Sarambaq spoke, for his pain touched them unexpectedly. Yet, the bitterness of his vengeance and the true purpose of his plans startled them, even those who had served him long, for they had always assumed that their master's deepest desire had been to take the life of the elf king who had ended his son's.

Now at last, they understood why he had fought the elf days earlier. It had been a test of the elf's strength and skill, and an indication of what he needed to do to control it so that today – today, when it really mattered – the elf would fight but not win. The elf's unexpected victory earlier had worried and angered him, and the injection of the poison into the elf's blood yesterday had been his insurance against another surprise outcome.

Thranduil was already shaking with fear for his son, but Sarambaq had still more to reveal.

"Behold where I will strike!" he announced in a voice full of venom and single-mindedness in its vengeful purpose. He stepped quickly up to Legolas and clutched at the front of the elf's shirt. Legolas shrank from the touch of his captor's hand, but the man tugged at the lacings so roughly that they tore, and the shirt fell open to reveal to the elf king the cause of the strange blood stains he had seen.

Thranduil blanched. For, in the middle of the young elf's chest, carved into his flawless ivory skin, were two jagged lines, each drawn from below a shoulder blade to the ribs on the opposite side of his chest, so that the lines crossed to mark a spot in the center of the chest. The wounds still looked a little fresh, and mixed with the drying blood were traces of herbs that the elf had pitifully tried to apply as a remedy. Even though Närum had mercifully helped clean off much of the stain from the blood that had flowed from the wounds, the sight of the deliberate mutilation would have raked any father's heart, as it did Thranduil's, and Sarambaq took advantage of the elf king's pain.

"That, elf king, was where your murderous stroke took my son's life!" Sarambaq said, pointing to the junction where the lines met, delighting in the horrified look on the face of Thranduil as his tearful eyes fixed on the grisly mark. "And that is where I shall take your son's."

There were stunned gasps even from Sarambaq's own men when they realized that there would be no quick end for the elf prince by Dárkil's bite or claw. Instead, Sarambaq desired to exact death using his own hands, through a re-enactment of the slaying of his son. Gruesome indeed was his plan, and so malevolent that even some of the Adhûnians shuddered at the intensity of their master's hate.

Legolas' blue eyes were moist as they fixed on the king's anguished ones, seeking desperately to comfort his father in spite of his own fragile safety.

With a shattered heart, the king tore his eyes away from his son and turned to his foe. "You have let your grief and hate dement you, Sarambaq!"he spat out. "Have you no mercy or decency? Who is the senseless murderer now? And a cowardly one as well, to fight one you have poisoned to a disadvantage!"

"Say what you will, Elf king, it is too late," came the obstinate reply.

"And you are arrogant indeed if you think you can let me live and hope to escape unscathed, for I shall hunt you to the ends of the earth till I find you," said the elven king. "What you propose to do is not an act of war; it is murder in cold blood. The elves will never forget."

"Seek me if you wish to try," Sarambaq responded boldly. "My steed will bear me so far away that I doubt you will find me before the rest of my natural life is through. And even if you do, truth be told – perhaps it will not matter to me anymore. You cannot further hurt one who has been hurt to the core."

Another murmur of surprise rose among the company, for it was then that all of them, save one, first learnt of Sarambaq's intent to depart on Dárkil after today.

Närum's lips were set in a grim line as his mind tried to take in the implications of this revelation. A quick look at Dárkil showed that the beast would not only bear his master on one last flight away from the land, but also happily tear apart anyone who tried to oppose him. Only one of Sarambaq's men had been told about his planned departure before today and kept his confidence: Pöras had been promised the occupancy of the master's halls in Adhûn if he would see to the continued captivity of the elf king in the dark cells of those halls, for that was where Sarambaq wished for Thranduil to be held for as long as possible.

In truth, however, the demented Sarambaq cared little what would happen to the elf king and the rest of the Adhûnians after today, or whether the elven realm would seek to destroy all of Adhûn itself. He would seek a new home far away, not caring where it would be, for his heart was beginning to feel cold and dead. He sought only to make Thranduil suffer as he did, and for far longer. Nothing else occupied his mind save that wish.

And now the time had come for the fulfillment of that desire.

When he was certain that Thranduil was securely fastened and unable to intervene, he ordered the release of the elf prince. As soon as the gag was removed, the younger elf greeted his father for the first time in more than a year.

"_Adar_," he called fondly and sadly, and started to walk towards his father before he was stopped by the point of Sarambaq's sword against his chest.

Despite the danger they were in, Thranduil looked upon the face of his son with a loving smile and said soothingly: "_Mae govannen_, my Greenleaf."

They were almost four yards apart, but their love and affection for each other enveloped them like a warm embrace. For a few brief breaths, the men of Adhûn looked in awe upon the imposing figure of the king crowned with golden hair and the tall, slender one of his son who had inherited the distinctive feature. Their elven faces lost none of their fairness and radiance despite the ugliness of the situation they were in, and some of the Adhûnians were unexpectedly moved to sympathy for the ethereal beings.

Father and son could not hold back tears from welling in their eyes as their possible separate fates flashed through their minds, each feeling more concerned about the other than for himself. They hid the twinge of fear that they both felt and exchanged looks that gave each other courage. Thranduil, in particular, desperately wanted to let Legolas know that aid was coming, and although part of him knew there was no assurance that it would come in time, there was still a gleam of hope.

"Help is coming, _ion nin_," the elf king said quickly in Sindarin. "Our friends will be here. Hold on till then."

Legolas took in a deep breath. The king's words were as a sudden draught of fresh air that eased his breathing and lifted his spirits instantly. He could not imagine in what form aid would come, but a smile – albeit a sad one – crossed his face of its own accord. Now he had a reason to fight till his last breath, for even if he fell, his father might yet live.

The elf prince's gait was unsteady from the effects of the latest injection of _ipo, _and he was clearly in a weakened state, but Thranduil hoped he would still be able to defend himself until… until… The elf king had never prayed so hard for the aid of the King of Gondor, nor placed so much hope on his timely arrival.

Not understanding what Thranduil had said to his son, Sarambaq ordered the elf king to cease talking, and he himself lowered his sword and turned away to prepare for the fight.

In that instant, Thranduil made a sudden strong lunge forward and away from his captors in the direction of his son. Before anyone could stop them, Legolas had his arms around his father, who could only press his lips firmly to his son's fevered forehead, reminding him of his love. The younger elf held on tightly and kissed his father's cheek in return, desperately savoring the brief contact of a familiar safety.

"Be brave, my son, you have my love," Thranduil whispered quickly against the too-warm skin.

"And you have mine, _Adar_," Legolas replied before he was roughly pulled away by angry men.

"Do not try that again, you fool!" Sarambaq bellowed and ordered the elf king seated on the ground some distance away. His ankles were quickly bound, and swords and bows trained on him to prevent any further movement on his part.

A moment later, a sword was placed in the hands of the elf prince. His brows knitted in puzzlement, for he had expected the use of his own knives again.

"My son's sword," Sarambaq declared, reading the elf's mind, "or rather, a likeness of it. Not your weapon of choice, Elf, but mine."

The replica of the sword his slain son had used – made years ago and kept for this purpose – was yet another detail in Sarambaq's twisted plan for revenge. Legolas stared at it with mute revulsion, for it felt vulgar to him to have to fight a dead warrior's father with a token of the dead warrior himself.

Sarambaq ignored the expression of disgust on Legolas' face and looked directly at Thranduil instead, with a note of triumph in his voice: "Witness now the beginning of your despair."

Then he turned back to the younger elf. "And you, elf prince," he said with confidence, "prepare for your demise."

Despite the hope he held, Thranduil's heart was gripped by claws of anxiety and fear, and tears escaped the eyes of the strong elf king as he beheld his youngest son in confrontation with a mad man, paying for a deed in which he had had no part.

Legolas knew there was no further use in arguing. Steadying himself as much as he could, he took one more look at his father and gave him a resolute smile. Then, placing his hopes in the cunning of Aragorn, and calling silently upon the tenacity of the Firstborn, he faced the gleam of madness in the Adhûnian's eyes and began battle with him once more.


	32. Endings and Beginnings

CHAPTER 32: ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS

Quietly, with all the stealth and skills that a Ranger, wood elves and highly trained Gondorian soldiers could muster, Aragorn and his small company picked their way through the thick woods to the south of the Table, following their instincts and creating a path where no man had yet trod. Their horses sensed the riders' need for silent movement and did not emit as much as a snort the entire journey.

The sense of unease Aragorn had felt about Legolas since the previous evening would not leave him. Without being privy to the plan Sarambaq had revealed to the elf king and prince, he felt different scenarios wreak havoc in his mind. That the mad man wished for the death of Thranduil in revenge seemed certain, the Ranger thought, but might he seek the lives of both father and son? Would he duel with one or both elves? Or would he slay them quickly?

Aragorn shuddered and breathed hard, suddenly feeling the forest stifle him as he hurried the riders forward. The small army reached the spring where Aragorn and Legolas had bathed themselves a few days ago, and Aragorn stopped briefly to retrieve Anduril from its hiding place in some bushes. He was just thinking about how good it felt to hold his sword in his hands again when a sudden clang of clashing swords reached the sharp ears of Ranger and elves, bringing them to a tense alertness on their horses and prompting an urge for haste that warred with the need for a silent advance.

Not for the first time, he sent a prayer to the Valar that he and his company would reach the king and prince of the Greenwood in time.

If the elf prince lost his life, the Ranger swore, he would take Sarambaq apart with his bare hands.

* * *

It had been more than ten years since Thranduil had seen his son wield a weapon in his hands for anything more than a friendly spar, and it was with both pride and trepidation that he watched the young elf – even with a second bout of poison in his veins – summon his hidden reserves of stamina, strength and skill to defy his opponent, thrusting, blocking and dodging with unconscious grace matched by grim determination. This time, both combatants had to fight to kill, and there would be no holding back. This time, Legolas was truly fighting for his life.

Long did the slender elf prince hold his own amidst the cheers and jeers of the circle of men, his feet matching each step of the larger Adhûnian's, his eyes constantly on the man's sword arm in anticipation of moves he had observed the man make during their last encounter. Always at the back of his mind was the need to bring down his opponent, or to fight for time till Aragorn arrived. He did not know how or when aid would come, but the thought of it steeled his resolve.

As the Adhûnians watched Legolas battle with their master a second time, they felt they were once again witness to a fascinating vision that raised the hairs on their arms. If the elf prince moved more slowly than usual, it was still with amazing artistry, so that the elf prince seemed to be weaving a tapestry of intricate patterns with his moves, deftly twisting himself like fine thread around the cruder motif of his opponent, embellishing the design with touches of gold when he spun faster than the human eye could grasp. And as he moved, the onlookers could almost hear his fluidity, an unbroken sequence of notes in an exquisite song that the elf played on an elvish harp, the rise and fall of the melody articulated with quick, smooth leaps and crouches, and delicate trills created with breathtaking spins in different directions, all woven around a coarser strain that threatened to overwhelm the elven music with its loud pounding beat.

Again, it was clear to the spectators who would have been the early victor had the elf not been unjustly robbed of his speed, for each sweep and forward thrust of the elvish arm, had it been half a breath quicker, would have hit the exact note it desired to strike.

But it was also painfully obvious to the witnesses that the more unrefined motif, the more robust melody, was slowly gaining dominance. The fairer of the fighters was becoming weary from the exertion of the battle, from lack of nourishment and care, and from the poison that sought to dull his senses. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and the cheeks that had been flushed before the fight were beginning to take on a pale pallor. He was once again fighting to stay alert and on his feet.

As the elf king watched breathlessly from the sidelines, each sharp sound of metal against metal cut into his heart, for it was hard to tell whether the next stroke would find flesh, where it would fall, or who would deal it.

* * *

Aragorn led the small company swiftly through the last part of the southern woods. They were almost at the Table now, and all was silent.

_So,_ _Sarambaq has emptied the place, and the confrontation will be on the open plain_, Aragorn concluded, frowning. _No surprise attacks from surrounding woods that way; he will be able to see anyone approaching long before they can do anything to stop him. All he needs is one command, one word, and dozens of arrows will fly …_

The image of Legolas' face flashed in front of Aragorn's eyes, and his heart constricted. Shaking his head and telling himself not to think of such possibilities, the king of Gondor unconsciously spurred his horse on in haste, with Hamille alert at his side and the other riders following his lead silently.

Faint sounds of battle from the plain suddenly assailed their ears again, and they tensed. Hamille urgently whispered "Two lone opponents" just loudly enough for Aragorn to hear. Aragorn nodded, knowing he could trust the almost infallible hearing of an elf. He wondered which of his hostages Sarambaq had chosen to fight, for they could not see beyond the woods, but suddenly, something deep in his heart told him the answer, and he gave an urgent signal to proceed even more quickly.

They raced past the empty caves and open area where Legolas had done battle three days ago, and swiftly turned east to go through the last patch of woods that stood between them and the royals of Mirkwood. It would be too far for them to shoot arrows from these woods; they would have to ride out to do that.

But the King hoped the four archers coming from another direction would hit the most critical targets.

_Be in place, _he prayed. _At the right time._

* * *

Having fought with Legolas once before, Sarambaq saw the clear signs of weariness in the elf, and he suddenly bore down on him to make him retreat.

Thranduil sucked in a sharp breath and held it as the Adhûnian viciously propelled his sword forward with a determined cry. Legolas sidestepped it to avoid being skewered, but not fast enough to prevent his left forearm from receiving a gash that bled quickly. Thranduil bit down on his lip, resisting the urge to call out and risk distracting his son.

As Sarambaq lunged forward from the force of his thrust, the lithe elf jabbed the elbow of the injured arm into the Adhûnian and, uttering a cry, brought his sword around in an arc to draw it across the broad back. Had Legolas been in possession of his full strength, the Adhûnian could have been sliced nearly in half, but the elf's strength was waning and he only managed to penetrate the thick armor to leave a long surface cut across the man's waist. Still, the cut stung Sarambaq's pride as much as it did his flesh, and the man arced forwards with a roar before he spun around violently, his eyes blazing and his sword a fire brand poised to draw blood in retaliation.

The tired elf looked at Sarambaq steadily, panting, and trying to keep drops of sweat from dripping into his eyes. With a crooked grin and a cunning gleam in his own eyes, Sarambaq charged at the elf, as fast and furious as a raged warg, his sword ready to kill. Again, Legolas leapt aside evasively; it was all he had strength and time for. But this time, the Adhûnian had anticipated it, and he followed the elf's movement, throwing his heavy bulk into the slender body and sending it crashing to the ground.

And this time, Thranduil could not hold back from shouting his son's name in fear and anguish.

* * *

At the sound of Thranduil's cry, Hamille stiffened atop his horse.

"The Prince!" he exclaimed in distress.

Aragorn needed no second prompt. Without a word, he and Rallias charged ahead through the barrier of trees, and not even the swift elvish steeds and their riders behind him could match his speed.

_Now, now! _he called silently to the four archers. _For the sake of the Valar, if now is the time – do it! _

* * *

Sensing the approach of unfamiliar beings, Dárkil let out a small screech of distress.

But his master's focus, like every Adhûnian's, was on the fallen figure of the elf prince.

Struggling with all his might and ignored by guards too awed by the fighters, Thranduil managed to get on his feet, desperately straining against his own bonds till his hands and ankles bled from the chafing, but to no avail.

Sarambaq's sword stabbed viciously towards the elf on the ground, aiming now for the center of the chest seen through the open shirt: the spot marked by the crude lines carved into the elven flesh. But Legolas' sense of self-preservation still served him as he rolled out of the way, and the sword plunged deep into the soil of the plain, frustrating the Adhûnian. So close now, so close.

Legolas' earlier wound in his left side began to hurt, having been reopened yet again. He felt himself growing weaker as he watched his foe yank his sword out. The elf struggled to get up, panting painfully, but Sarambaq was almost upon him again.

_Not fast enough, not fast enough, _Legolas realized with horror. _Adar, forgive me, forgive me._

A short distance away, Dárkil screeched again, a little louder now, a little more urgently.

But all eyes were still fixed on the two figures. Thranduil's cry of his son's name was now choked with his tears, lost in the shouts from other spectators of what would surely be the tragic death of an elf prince.

Dárkil was on its legs now, screeching madly, terrified.

Other calls began to join the beast's – voices akin to its own, yet different, and they mixed with frantic cries from human throats to rent the air.

But no one paid heed to these new and strange sounds.

Sarambaq himself was too far gone. Nothing filled his vision and mind except his moment of triumph. He raised his sword for the final blow, ready to hack right through Legolas' arm that was already raised in futile defence.

A desperate cry of alarm and anguish from a bound and immobilized Thranduil went up at the same time as the passionate roar of fury from the King of Gondor, now charging out from the woods with Anduril, the Flame of the West, raised high in signal.

Their hearts stopped at the sound of metal penetrating flesh.

Suddenly, the plain erupted with an explosion of noises as human yells reverberated against fierce elven cries, and riders raced out from the woods behind Aragorn, drawing their bows.

The weapons of the elf riders were still too far away for firing, yet – astonishingly – arrows pierced the Adhûnians around Thranduil, arrows that flew expertly through narrow spaces between human obstacles to bring down the men closest to him before they could even realize what was happening. Bewildered, the Adhûnians swept their eyes from their fallen companions to the elf riders from the woods, uttering shouts of surprise and confusion.

But suddenly someone yelled "Look! Look!" and now the Adhûnians – in a flash of understanding – trained their eyes skywards from whence the arrows had come, and they finally saw what had brought forth the terrified screeching of Dárkil: from out of the clouds came four soaring eagles that had borne Thranduil from Mirkwood to the White City – with the formidable Windlord Gwaihir at their head – swooping down upon the Adhûnians as mighty thunderbolts, dreadful in their power and rage.

At Aragorn's signal, the four sharp-eyed archers who rode upon them had loosed their own swift and deadly metal-barbed arrows, and even from a distance, two had taken down Pöras and another man near the elf king. Another two had pierced the sword arm of Sarambaq when he poised for the fatal blow to the prince, the earlier admonishment from Thranduil to try and take the man alive the only thing stopping the archers from sending their arrows into the man's head.

Pandemonium ruled on the plain as startled Adhûnians ran about in haste and prepared to do battle with approaching assailants from both directions.

Sarambaq added his own cry of pain to the chaos of sounds, his bloody arm dropping his weapon, and only the elven reflexes of Legolas saved him as he rolled aside before the blade could fall on him. Shocked and enraged beyond conscious reason, Sarambaq picked up the sword with his other, less effective arm and began to hack desperately at Legolas. Weakened though he was, the elf was fuelled by the sudden turn in events and called upon all his remaining reserves to evade each wild stroke. Groping urgently on the grass, his eyes never leaving the Adhûnian, Legolas found the sword he had dropped earlier and used every ounce of strength in his arms to block yet another downward thrust from Sarambaq.

As a horrified Thranduil watched, the Adhûnian gave a hard kick that took the sword out of Legolas' hand, and the elf king, hands and feet still bound, tried to shuffle towards his son. An Adhûnian started after him, when – unexpectedly – the voice of Närum yelled "Hold!", and the man stopped dead in his tracks.

With a blood-curdling yell, Sarambaq prepared to end the elf prince's life a second time, but Legolas, once again with the grim determination of a cornered creature, used his leg to throw the man off-balance with a sweeping arc to the ankle. Startled, the Adhûnian toppled over and lost his hold on his sword, but as the weapon flew from his hands, it ripped into Legolas' thigh, eliciting a loud cry from the elf, before skidding over the grass to land several feet away.

Just as the man fell, two arrows that had been aimed at his body – sent by the eagle riders – whistled past and embedded themselves firmly in the ground inches from where his head had landed.

Seeing the near misses and the futility of trying to retrieve his blade without being pierced by more arrows, Sarambaq picked himself up and raced desperately towards Dárkil, calling for the steed as he did so. The beast responded immediately, half-flying and half-running towards its master with a loud screech, uncaringly knocking over men in its path.

At the sight of their master running, and alarmed by the wild charge of the beast, the Adhûnians started to panic, caught between defending themselves from the airborne archers and approaching riders on the ground. Sarambaq used the chaos to reach his steed faster than he thought possible and clambered on.

The beast, which had been poised for flight, took off immediately in the direction of the Table, but as it gained height, one of the archers sent an arrow into its side. As before, although Dárkil gave an angry screech of pain, the arrow pierced its leathery hide but a little, and it continued its flight. Two more arrows soon joined the first, however, and though the flying steed could not be brought down that way, it clearly felt the sting of the elven arrows, for it flew a little unsteadily, and instead of bearing its rider clearly away from the area, it descended beyond the woods before the Table, and those who had been watching it knew it must have alighted on the flat rock for its rider to remove the arrows.

The Adhûnians on the plain continued to panic, some shooting wildly at the approaching alliance of men and elves, and getting skewered in return with the unmatched precision of elven archers. Evaluating the situation quickly, Närum continued to yell "Hold! Hold!" in all directions. His companions, confused and startled by the command from their leader, looked doubtfully at him and at each other, but Närum, striding purposefully, kept calling forcefully to them till they obeyed his order and ceased to move forward, although their weapons remained drawn and their bodies were tensed for action.

Seeing the step Närum had taken, Aragorn likewise held up his hand to slow his own army. The elves and Gondorians responded to Aragorn's command, but rode in response to some unspoken understanding among them to surround the astonished Adhûnians in a smooth, easy move, their bows and blades held ready. The Adhûnians looked at the elegant elvish beings and their steeds in awe, and were even more astounded when four giant eagles landed with breathtaking grace near them moments later to await further instructions.

Aragorn and Hamille rode quickly up to Legolas, dismounting even before their horses had stopped completely near the figure on the ground. An elf who had ridden up to Thranduil quickly cut the bonds around his ankles and chest, and without waiting for his hands to be freed, the fearful father ran and dropped to his knees at his son's side. Legolas, clutching at his wounded thigh, tried to calm his father.

Before his knees could touch the ground, Aragorn had already torn off part of his own tunic to staunch the elf's bleeding. The Ranger greeted his friend with a quick smile while Hamille swiftly freed Thranduil's hands from the remaining bonds. The Greenwood king immediately bent over to clasp the face of his son, and the immensely relieved monarch planted a tearful kiss upon the brow, not even conscious that he had knocked into Aragorn and interrupted his examination of the fresh wound. The Ranger tactfully moved aside.

"_Adar_, worry not, the wound is not deep," the elf prince assured his father with a small smile, earning a raised eyebrow from his friend. "Have you been harmed?"

"No, _ion nin_," the older elf replied shakily.

Aragorn would have allowed the father and son more time, but two urgent matters had to be seen to.

"My lord, let me tend to his wound," he said gently, addressing the first matter.

Thranduil removed his hands instantly as if they had been scorched by Legolas' flesh. "Of course, of course," he mumbled absently.

As his hands went back to applying pressure on the elf's wound, Aragorn caught Thranduil's eye again and stated firmly: "We need to take care of Sarambaq. He is in those woods," he said, indicating the direction with his head.

A look of unbridled outrage returned to the elf king's face at that reminder and he opened his mouth to voice his agreement when the archers who had been on the eagles stepped up to them. Aragorn gave his friend's arm a small squeeze and signaled to Hamille to see to the wound before getting to his feet with the elf king.

"Come," he said, "we can…"

"No, I thank you, Elessar, but this is my fight," Thranduil interrupted him.

Aragorn looked about to protest, but held his tongue. He looked at Hamille and Legolas, who were both clearly dismayed. They addressed the king in unison.

"_Adar – _"

"_Heru nin – _"

"This is my fight," Thranduil repeated, his voice deadly calm, and the elves and Ranger knew then that no argument would dissuade him. Aragorn nodded, aware that this, too, was a father who had almost lost a son and sought to remove the threat. He had no right to expect otherwise of him.

_At least his warriors will be with him_, the king of Gondor thought as he knelt once more to see to Legolas.

"_Saes, Adar_,"the voice of the elf prince called softly and suddenly, and Thranduil dropped to his knees again, ready to deflect his son's attempt to change his mind.

"Please, _Adar_, be careful," the prince said, looking deeply into the eyes of his father. Thranduil smiled first in surprise, then in pride, for his son understood him and his need to erase the threat. He could not allow Sarambaq to endanger them again.

"I will prepare the others," Hamille said and started to walk towards the rest of the elves.

"Nay, Hamille," said Thranduil, holding his hand up to stop the elf. "I will do this my way."

Hamille, Aragorn and Legolas were dumbstruck. Once more, they all spoke in unison.

"My Lord – "

"_Heru nin_ – "

"_Adar – _"

"There is no time to waste," Thranduil protested. Turning to Aragorn, he nodded and said quickly: "I will express my thanks fully later, but I must see to this first." And without another word, he walked swiftly to Gwaihir and spoke to the Windlord.

Aragorn helped Legolas to sit, and together with the whole group of astonished Adhûnians, they watched Thranduil and three other elves soar to the skies on the eagles, armed with bows and arrows. Not a moment too soon did they take off, for the cry of Dárkil came from the Table as it rose into the sky with Sarambaq on its back, its head already turned towards the east in desperate flight.

But the beast of the Adhûnian spawn – now wounded, though not incapacitated – was no match for the speed of the Windlord and his kin, which soon caught up with the abomination that had been spawned from one of their tortured own. As men and elves watched from the ground, the eagles surrounded Dárkil on all sides so that the beast was forced to swerve in a frantic bid to escape the arrows of elven archers and an enraged elf king.

Screeching in terror, Dárkil ended up flying back haphazardly towards the plain, not far from where the whole crowd of men and elves were gathered. It headed south, its rider turning his head back to look at the eagles which followed close behind. Elves and men ran towards the gully to watch the spectacle, Aragorn supporting his elven friend. As the beast reached the air above the gully next to the plain, three eagles flew below it, and three arrows were loosed from elven bows. Two slammed into the underbelly and chest of the beast, and one lodged once more in the joint between one wing and the body. A fourth arrow – shot from above by the hand of Thranduil himself – flew straight and true into the head of the beast. With a terrifying shriek of pain, the beast twisted, but still remained airborne.

At a loud command from the elven king, all four eagles now swooped upon the injured beast from different directions, ferocious in their attack and in the cries they raised. As their elf riders clung on fiercely, two of the majestic birds clawed at the wings of the demonic beast, and the other two boldly headed straight for the neck, to sink their beaks and claws deep into the more vulnerable flesh at the throat.

The shrill death cry of Dárkil was dreadful to hear as the beast finally began to fall, plummeting towards the depths of the gully below.

Its rider, crying out himself, lost his hold on his beast and fell helplessly, still clutching his sword fiercely in one hand. But even as he began to fall, with an unexpected surge of strength, the man drew back his arm and launched the sword with all his might, straight at the elven king who, by some unforeseen twist of the wind, was close enough to the path of the sword for it to hit either him or the Windlord in seconds, even if the eagle swerved.

A cry went up from the ground, and so intent was everyone on the scene playing out above their heads that no one noticed the elf prince Legolas swiftly take the weapons from an elf standing near him. As Sarambaq fell through the air and flung his sword, the most accomplished archer of the Mirkwood realm drew bow and arrow with all his remaining strength, tracked the path of the sword with eyes so keen they defied human understanding, and fired, all in one smooth motion before Aragorn even had time to be surprised. The elven missile struck the target and threw it off its trajectory to fall harmlessly away from the elves and eagles. Aragorn and the elves nearby spun around to look at the prince with wordless astonishment and admiration.

But the eyes of Legolas himself were trained on Sarambaq. Leaning on his friend again and standing carefully on his uninjured leg, the elf watched the man fall at last into the waters of the river below. In moments, the body was gone, carried by the swift waters to what they assumed would be the watery grave of the underground river. Where it would end up, whether it would remain lodged in some deep, dark crevice under the rock, or whether it would be carried by the river right through to Adhûn, they could not yet guess.

As they watched the body of Sarambaq disappear from sight, men and elves alike loosed a sigh of relief. The Adhûnians – even greedy Brûyn – suddenly realized, to their own surprise, that they were glad he was gone. They moved slowly away from the edge of the gully in a daze, all thoughts of battle gone from their minds, since the reason for their fighting in the first place had drifted away, drowned in the cold waters of death even as he had been immersed in a stormy sea of hate for the last ten years of his life.

Despite the removal of their biggest threat, Hamille and the elves still surrounded the Adhûnians discreetly, watching and guarding them without any overt strategy, till further instructions came from Aragorn or Thranduil.

The King of Gondor himself took time to breathe one of the longest sighs of relief he had ever breathed. He turned to his elven friend, looking first with joy and fondness upon the face he had not been completely certain of seeing again, then with pity and sadness as he studied at close range the awful mark carved into the chest of the friend whose hurts he would rather have borne himself than to see him suffer so. He did not yet know the full story behind the mutilation, but tears sprang unbidden to his eyes nonetheless as he noted the attempts the elf had made at tending to the wounds himself, using the remnants of the herbs he had been left with, but no clean linen. That the elf had been poisoned again was also clear to the eyes of the healer, and he could not stop the feeling of anger and regret that washed over him as he started to reproach himself for having left the elf alone.

"No, Aragorn, lay no blame on yourself, this was not your fault," Legolas said softly, surprising the Ranger. "You did the right thing by leaving, my friend, for by doing so, you brought aid to my father and me, and for that, I thank you. _Hannon le._"

Aragorn wondered that Legolas could still smile in spite of everything he had been through, and that the elf's first concern – as it had always been – was still for his human friend. The King of Gondor shook his head and embraced the elf as firmly as he could, trying carefully to avoid putting pressure on the wounds. Only a deep sigh escaped his lips, for his voice caught at his throat, and he had no immediate words to accompany his mix of emotions. The elf returned his hold, partly out of a need to lean on him and take the weight off his injured leg, partly to reassure him, but mainly because he was truly glad to see his friend again.

When he could finally speak, Aragorn pulled away, while still letting the elf hold on to his shoulder for support. He looked into the blue elven eyes and smiled. "Teach me how to shoot as you did, my friend, and we will have no debts between us," the Ranger jested, drawing a small laugh from the elf.

Aragorn knew they should be returning to the others, but he wanted to make one more statement and ask one more question.

"No thanks are needed from you, Legolas, no debts between us," he insisted seriously now, and held his friend's gaze till the elf nodded. Then he drew a deep breath and asked quietly: "If you are not opposed to speaking about it, my friend, could you tell me why this mark on your chest was made?"

If anyone else had asked him the question, Legolas would likely have declined to answer, for the memory was indeed painful to recall, but he explained Sarambaq's intent to Aragorn without hesitation. When he had finished, the King of Gondor wished he could have cut off Sarambaq's arm himself as punishment for his cold-blooded deed, but he said nothing, for the man was already gone, and he knew that his elven friend would not wish to dwell on the matter. The healer in him spoke instead.

"The scars will heal in time," he said, seeking to comfort the elf, and was himself consoled by the ready nod he received. "I know we will speak of many more things when we are back in the City, but for now, tell me, Legolas: other than what I can see, are there other wounds I should know of? Did he do anything else to you?"

The query prompted Legolas' mind to recall the pain and torment Sarambaq and his men had put him through the previous evening when they had used their cruel blades on his chest, when they had pierced his skin with the poisoned dart and when he had struggled against them, but noting the concern on the healer's face, the elf decided that Aragorn did not need more information to add to his self-imposed sense of guilt. It was, after all, over now.

Legolas shook his head and replied, "Nay, Aragorn. It is as you see."

The healer hesitated a moment and narrowed his eyes before asking for confirmation. "You are not hiding anything from me, are you, Elf?"

Legolas grinned and shook his head. "No, 'Hama'," he teased. "Go back to Rohan, and leave a tired elf alone."

The two friends laughed warmly at that reply, and walked slowly back to the plain, one leaning on the other. They first joined Thranduil in thanking the landed eagles, to whom the elf king and his son owed their lives.

"As you once delivered the Istari Mithrandir from danger, Lord, you have most kindly aided me in removing a threat to one I hold dearer than life," Thranduil addressed the mighty Gwaihir with a respectful bow. "You have my undying thanks."

"As you have mine, Lord," Legolas added, bowing in his turn.

"And no less my own, Mighty One," Aragorn finished, with a gesture of his own.

Perched majestically upon the ground, The Windlord eyed each of them with the keenness and wisdom of the Old.

"I should be paying homage to your own aged nobility, King Thranduil, but I accept your gracious thanks and proffer you the same words I did Mithrandir: no burden were you to bear, my friends," the Windlord replied. "As I abhorred the evil of Sauron, so did I wish to aid in dispelling the remnants of his Shadow. I will not deny, either, the satisfaction that my kin and I feel in bringing an end to the man who tortured one of our own, and who disgraced us by spawning a demon from an eagle that was once as noble as any.

"Before we return to our home in the North, let me provide you one more service. I believe a speedy return to the City would be beneficial for the elf prince, who needs healing. We will gladly bear you and your son forth, Lord Thranduil, if you so wish."

Thranduil and Legolas accepted this offer gratefully after Aragorn assured them that he would take care of matters here. Before they left, however, Legolas took a moment to thank Närum for the small kindnesses the man had rendered him in Aragorn's absence, and in turn, the Adhûnian expressed deep regret over everything that had been inflicted upon the elf while he and his men had been in the service of Sarambaq.

"Pain was given and borne on both sides," the elf prince said sagely in response to the Adhûnian's apology. "I wish I had not had to fight your men in Ithilien or on the plain when I first arrived, for it gave me no pleasure to take their lives. If we can agree never to let such another such situation arise, and you can promise never to cross the borders of Ithilien or the Greenwood, save on friendly terms, let us consider this matter settled here, Närum, for you are a good man, and I shall not forget your aid."

Elf and Adhûnian parted on those terms and with far more courtesy than when they had met, to the satisfaction of both parties.

After promising Aragorn that he would rest while he let the healers of Minas Tirith tend to him, and after being assured in turn that his weapons would be retrieved from the caves, the exhausted elf prince departed for the White City with his father, on the wings of the last of the Great Eagles of Middle-earth.

Aragorn and the remaining elves spoke with Närum and his companions, proposing that if no more animosity was visited upon Gondor or Ithilien, the Adhûnians would receive none in return – an arrangement that the Adhûnians were only too glad to agree to, for they had seen that the strength of the Gondorians and elves were not to be taken lightly.

While the other Adhûnians were clearing the plain of the spoils of their skirmish, and the Gondorian soldiers and elves helped them bury their dead, Aragorn approached Närum to fulfill the promise he had made before he left the caves.

"You took care of my companion as you said you would, Närum. What would you ask of me in return?" the King asked.

"If a peaceful existence for me and my men can be assured, King Elessar, that will be sufficient reward for me. I have tired of the years of service to Sarambaq and wish for nothing more than to return to a life of quiet," Närum replied. "In truth, you owe me nothing, for you were taken against your will at the last, and you returned Ködil as you promised. I only wish our leader had been one as noble as you."

Aragorn smiled at those words. "Were you a Gondorian, Närum, I would gladly take you into my service. But your men need you and your leadership. Therefore, let us part in peace, and let me extend an invitation to you to visit the White City when you wish, as long as you come in friendship."

"My companions and I will have much to put in order when we return to our homes, but I thank you for your invitation… Sire," Närum replied politely. "When the time is right, I will visit, and it will be in friendship."

Aragorn nodded courteously, and the Adhûnian – moved by the graciousness of the King of Gondor – lowered his head in respect. With that, their verbal agreement was sealed.

The grey clouds that had greeted this day and blocked out the sun earlier now melted away, and Anor shone once again on this area of woods and plains just beyond the borders of Gondor. And on this day, the name of King Elessar Telcontar became known to the men of Adhûn, their acquaintance opening the way for more friendly encounters between the realm of Gondor and its neighbors in the East that lasted throughout the reign of the Lord of the White Tree.

* * *

****

**_Note_**:

Sigh…..

Writing and rewriting these two chapters was very fulfilling, but really, really draining. I'm 'plumb tuckered out' – as exhausted as Legolas is by the battle – and I only hope it was worth the wait for you.

I also know that there may be thoughts on what the characters could/would/should have done, or what could/would/should have happened. But right now, right at this moment – I am just going to kick back and be happy with the episode as it has unfolded. As the song goes: "I guess that's just the way my story goes." Too tired to think otherwise, sorry.

Oh, one more thing:

The battle is over… but the drama is not. The tale has not quite ended yet, and there are a few more chapters I have planned – nothing to do with Sarambaq, however. So – if you'd like to continue the journey of this tale with me, stick around, I would love to have your company still. :–)

And now, I lay me down to sleep. Streeeeeeeeeetch. See you soon.


	33. Rest and Restlessness

_**Note to reviewers**:_

_(In the mode of Yoda, in response to the desperate reminder by **Lembas7**) _:–)

_Yes, more than a week it has been, and a reason for it there is: too busy I was. My apologies I extend, and your patience I appreciate:_

_**Brina, Ali64, Alisworld, Evergreene** (breathe!), **lindhoyland, Kirsten Z** (Aragorn does know about the second bout of poison, but he will find out something else), **Kirsten, Ithilien** (you must be the only who thinks I'm going too fast, lol), **viggomaniac **(your appreciation continues to uplift me), **Red Squirrel** (impending danger to new keyboard coming soon), **SmilingDragonGirl **(you made me laugh so much! And yes, the contrast between Aragorn and Sarambaq – on several planes - was intended), **Ainu Laire** (watch out for speeding elves, lol), **AM, Deana, Soar** (hope you read the review I left for one of your stories), **kukumalu **(Faramir still has hair, don't worry), **Ithil-valon** (yes, Thranduil is an elven king, after all), **leralonde **(panic excused), **invisigoth3, **and** slayer3.**_

_**Linwe**: You are most welcome, even if it is to the last leg of the story. Re your query: no, they did not do 'that' to Legolas._

_Thank you to all those who gave compliments on the use of metaphors in describing the fight scenes. I must thank my friend Steve who first made the comparison between Legolas and a powerful cat that can attack faster than the eye can anticipate, for it showed me that such speed is physically possible. **Kelsey Estel**: re the music metaphor – yes, the allusion to the songs of the Ainur (in particular, the conflict between Ilúvatar's and Melkor's music) was intended; it's just such am amazing concept._

_On some of your queries about a sequel because Sarambaq's body has not been presented for identification, bagging and burial: ask me this again at the end of the story – that is all I will say for now. _:–)

_A new chapter this is, and happy I hope you are. _

* * *

CHAPTER 33: REST AND RESTLESSNESS

Seven pairs of eyes at the luncheon table were fixed on Gimli, as he embellished the end of his story with hands that were animated as the earnest expressions on his face and the rise and fall of his gruff voice.

"…and Fimbar was so taken with the brilliance of the stone, he never noticed he was on the edge of the pool. He stepped back just a wee bit too far – like Gollum, if you recall –except he was much bigger than the slinker, so you can imagine the splash the laddie sent up. Ai, but it rose five feet in the air! Anyone standing near him saved themselves from bathing for a week, they did!"

"Not including you, surely?" Faramir asked teasingly amidst the laughter from the rapt audience.

"Oh no, not me!" Gimli insisted. "I knew to leap well out of the way soon as he started wavering on one foot. Too fast for him to get me wet!"

The dwarf reveled in the confused expressions of his listeners as the laughter tapered off and they tried to work out whether his answer meant he did or did not bathe for a week. He found Aragorn and Legolas shaking their heads and giving him knowing smiles before bursting into loud infectious chuckles himself, causing everyone else to join him. The dwarf puffed out his chest even more, enjoying the effect his stories were having on the two kings, the queen, the Steward and his wife, Hamille of Ithilien and of course his dear friend the elf prince. They were all in a relaxed mood after a hearty, well-cooked meal and generous helpings of some of the best wine the City's cellars had to offer, and had listened to more than one of the numerous tales the Lord of the Glittering Caves seemed to store in abundance.

"You must lead a fascinating life in those caverns, Gimli," Eowyn remarked, beaming at him.

"Indeed we do," the dwarf affirmed, thoroughly enjoying his role as narrator, "and there are plenty more tales, if anyone would care to hear them."

"I am sure many would care," Aragorn said generously, rising from his seat and looking around at his guests. "Perhaps it would be more comfortable for you to do so in the parlor, where you are welcome to more wine – or a smoke?"

Comfortable in his familiarity with his mortal companions, Legolas groaned outwardly at the mention of the strange habit that he had never learnt to appreciate. The elf king, who was not as unreserved, raised an eyebrow at his son's apparent indiscretion, but Arwen threw the younger elf a sympathetic smile. In contrast to his friend's reaction, Gimli's eyes lit up at once.

"Ah, a smoke!" the dwarf responded with delight, as he followed his host's lead out of the dining room. "If it is Longbottom Leaf you offer, Aragorn, it would be most welcome indeed, for I have a pipe in my pocket that is beginning to feel lonely; it sorely misses the companionship of some good pipeweed. The Southfarthing leaf will serve very well to loosen my tongue – all the more needed for a good round of story-telling..."

There were small laughs from the others at Gimli's ceaseless chattering as they made their way to the parlor. Aragorn excused himself, saying he would join them as soon as he had taken care of an urgent matter in his office. He pressed his wife's hand to his lips and clapped Gimli on the shoulder as he withdrew from them. But his parting gesture to Legolas perplexed the elf: the king grasped his shoulder warmly, yet gave him a grim smile – one that warned of forthcoming questions demanding answers – before striding off with a guard in tow.

Knitting his brows, Legolas watched the king disappear around a corner, wondering at the meaning behind the gesture. Whatever it was that concerned Aragorn, the elf hoped that his friend would not be too quickly overwhelmed with his duties again, for he felt that the man needed some time off from them. Indeed, Legolas and Aragorn had hardly had three welcome days of rest after their return from the Table before court duties reclaimed Aragorn's time and attention.

For Legolas, however, the period of healing had gone on. The king's physicians had given the elf prince more herbal tea to remove the remainder of Sarambaq's poison from his body, and applied healing poultices to his numerous wounds. In facing the urgent demands of the battle with the Sarambaq, his body had borne great stress and torture to the limits of its endurance, but now that the demands on it were gone, the elf felt the exhaustion. Thus, to the relief of his watchful father and an adamant Aragorn, the elf had – for one of the rare times in his life – readily followed the healers' orders to spend much of the first few days in healing sleep.

Gimli had arrived two days after the Windlord had borne Legolas back to the City. The dwarf had learnt about the threat to his elven friend from the messengers Aragorn had first sent to Mirkwood, for those riders had taken the route through Rohan, and upon reaching Mirkwood to find King Thranduil already departed from his home, they had returned to Minas Tirith more slowly by the same route, this time being joined by an irate Gimli. The dwarf had of course been quite annoyed that he could not have gone with Aragorn to the rescue of his dear friend, but was greatly relieved to find both his human and elven friends safely returned. He had insisted on staying till the elf was on his feet again and had in fact spent most of his time chatting with Legolas when he was not examining the stonework in the City or frightening the palace cooks by visiting the kitchens at odd times of the day and night, and annoying them by making off with pastries just out of the oven.

Today, however, Gimli abandoned all thought of craft or food sampling for another of his loves: story-telling. The group around him was thoroughly amused by his tales, and they let him ramble on, for he clearly enjoyed the narration. Even Thranduil, who was least acquainted with the dwarf, indulged him with his attention as they fell in step on their way to the parlor.

"Your tales of the Glittering Caves are so magnificent, Master Dwarf, that they seem to me to threaten to outshine the caves themselves!" he observed with a polite smile.

"Well, I wouldn't say that, milord," the dwarf replied seriously, though he was secretly pleased that the elven king found his stories worth his interest. "The caves are spectacular beyond compare. You must come and visit them some day."

At that claim, King Thranduil raised his eyebrows and sent his son a quick glance. The elf prince grinned, understanding his father's surprise that the dwarf would dare to declare his caves better than the palatial ones in the elven realm of North Greenwood, in which Thranduil resided.

"They are different from the ones at home, _Adar_, but they do have a beauty of their own," Legolas said judiciously, certain that Gimli heard him as well. "If you are not opposed to returning home through Rohan, we could stop there, for I have not visited them for almost three years, and it would be pleasant to see Eomer again."

To Legolas' surprise, his father seemed agreeable to that proposal. Perhaps the idea appealed to him because he had been hardly been out of his own kingdom in the past sixty or seventy years, save to reclaim or restore the Greenwood, or to conduct trade talks with the men of Dale. Or, perhaps his father was doing it for his sake, Legolas guessed, since the king knew the depth of his friendship with the dwarf. But whatever the reason was, he noted with pleasure that his father and his good friend – whose races had had a long history of animosity – now sat next to each other and began to engage in affable conversation, comparing the two cave systems they lived in.

The elf prince chose a seat at the bay windows, away from the smoke that began to issue from Gimli's pipe, and grinned as Gimli captured everyone's attention again with yet another episode of the adventures he seemed to have each day in the Caves. It warmed his heart to see the peaceful looks on the faces of his father and friends: Gimli was almost surrounded by his willing audience, his expressive eyes and voice matching the excited gestures of his hands. Thranduil seemed to be listening intently, the patience of the old adorning his dignified features. Hamille stood behind him, a faithful sentinel, always alert and sensitive, but a smile played on his lips now. Faramir sat on the arm of a sturdy chair in which his wife was seated, a hand placed lightly around her shoulders; she retained the pride of the White Lady of Rohan that Legolas had first seen during the Quest, but it was now tempered with an easy contentment. Both laughed at something Gimli said, and shared a whispered exchange before turning back to the dwarf. Arwen looked just as blissful, radiant with the rosiness of an expectant mother; she had revealed the news of a second child to Aragorn when Eldarion had first recovered after the king's return, but it was only after Legolas' safe return that they had announced the news to everyone else, much to their joy for the couple.

The elf's thoughts lingered next on Aragorn, although he was still absent from the gathering.

_A king's work is never done_, the elf thought in sympathy, glancing at his father as well. But at least Elessar was safe again within the walls of his City, surrounded by the people he loved and who loved him back.

Just two weeks ago, all the people gathered here had suffered several days – eight in all from the time he first rode out from Ithilien – of worry, uncertainty and fear for someone in this room: first him, then Aragorn as well, and finally, all three of them when his father entered the scene of conflict. How much anguish and turmoil one vengeful man's desire had caused, he recalled with some sorrow.

Breathing a small sigh, he turned his eyes away from the group, absently fingering the front of his shirt beneath which the scars lay. He looked out of the bay windows at the gardens that he and his kin had designed for Aragorn and Arwen in the first year of the king's reign.

_Have ten years gone so swiftly by? _the elf wondered. His perception of Time had indeed altered since he immersed himself more and more in the world of mortals, he realized. There were occasions when he found himself looking at Time as Gimli or Aragorn would: a precious commodity that would run out for them, and therefore it became precious to him too.

In fact, elven existence itself had changed because of its alliances and conflicts with Men, dwarves and hobbits. Much good had come of their acquaintance, and much had he learnt from them – lessons and insights that he felt enriched his life.

But there had been unpleasantness as well. And pain.

Too much pain.

The voices of the others in the room receded slowly, slowly, from his consciousness, becoming as dull, garbled noises heard through water, as he wandered without thinking down the path of the past two weeks. Unwelcome memories pushed past the sentinels of his mind; clear as crystal they seemed, yet wreathed in curling grey mists so that they seeped through the recesses of the barriers he had tried to erect against the past. They conjured up unwanted visions, they echoed dreadful sounds he would rather forget, and they laughed at his helplessness to stem their assault on him.

Legolas suddenly recoiled.

For, out of the grey mists, forming before his eyes, came the image of Sarambaq's face, contorted with hate. It hovered like an apparition that would not leave, as if the spirit of the man were on the other side of the window, disrupting the peace of the gardens, darkening the sky that a moment ago had been a cloudless blue. The lips parted first in a wicked sneer, then began moving noiselessly, mouthing a silent chant which turned into mocking laughter. Legolas saw menacing hands holding a wicked blade reaching towards him, raising the blade upwards and bringing it down ferociously at an angle, and up again in the other direction…

The elf clutched at his chest, felt his breath hitch, and he gasped amid an explosion of sound.

His head whipped towards the group in the room and realized that they had burst out in a loud guffaw at something Gimli had said, completely unaware of the strange agony that had gripped him.

Legolas released his relief in a deep breath.

But he suddenly felt stifled, distressingly hemmed in by the stone walls of the spacious room, cloaked in gloom despite the sunshine streaming in through the glass panes, and the need to be outside overwhelmed him. Aware that he was breathing too quickly, he took a moment to slow it, before standing and moving towards the group in deliberate steps. With a conscious effort, he suppressed the tide of emotions threatening to spill forth and forced a smile from his lips.

"_Adar_, I feel the need to go outside. This smoke tickles my throat," he said in a steady voice, managing to throw a teasing grin in Gimli's direction and eliciting a grunt from the dwarf.

"Shall I – " Thranduil began, rising from his seat, and Hamille took a step forward at the same time. But Legolas stopped them both with a raised hand.

"Nay, _Adar, _please stay," the younger elf urged. "I will be fine, I will not be long. And I do not want my illustrious friend to lose his most ardent listener."

Gimli gave another grunt and teased his friend in return: "Don't get lost again, Elf. It was hard enough for them to retrieve you the first time, and there are some caves to visit."

Suddenly feeling uncertain about what he had just uttered, the dwarf cast a sidelong glance at Thranduil to see if he had overstepped the boundary by callously dredging up the painful memories of the past two weeks, but the king's happiness at having his son safe again – augmented by the recently consumed wine – would not be so easily dampened; the elf monarch smiled in amusement at both his son and the dwarf before turning back to the latter. Hamille alone cast Legolas a small doubtful glance, noticing the almost imperceptible paling of his prince's already fair complexion, but the tactful elf reserved his observations and dutifully kept his place behind the king.

Legolas walked out of the parlor in as nonchalant and cheerful a manner as he could assume, but as soon as he was out of sight of the doors to the room, his smile fled his face, he let out a deep sigh, and his shoulders sagged.

The elven feet trekked an urgent path along the hallways leading out of the citadel, his footsteps leaving no trace of sight or sound as he passed as swiftly and silently as a wood sprite in an enchanted forest. It was thus that he passed unseen and unheard across the open door of the office in which Aragorn sat finishing a letter, his fleeting presence unnoticed by both the king and a messenger waiting attentively a few feet away.

As Legolas descended the long stairs leading out of the citadel, trying to shut his mind against the dreadful images that had just assailed it, the wisp of a song came to him. Softly, it wafted towards him, riding on the air, and he halted. Legolas lifted his head to listen, for it began to beckon to him, its haunting strains tugging at his heart, coming from within and from without, reaching him from nowhere and everywhere.

And then the ache came.

Legolas gasped and bent over, hugging his chest. The next instant, he found himself walking urgently again, heading straight for a spot in the woody part of the castle grounds of which he was particularly fond – a place of green solace in the Stone City.

King Elessar was handing over the missive to the messenger when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, an unexpected sight: an elf – long golden hair billowing in the wind – walking briskly in the direction of the gardens. Moved by a sudden feeling of alarm, the king took one long stride to the window and trained his eyes on the figure to confirm what he had seen. Something in the manner in which the elf's head was bowed and in the way his arms were clasped about himself called out to the observer, stirring uneasiness in his heart.

_Ai, Legolas, _Aragorn lamented, his mind going back to what he had been told this morning. _Why do you hide? I am here for you, my friend. Why do you run? _

Aragorn turned back to the messenger, a crease of deep concern lining his forehead.

"Deliver this immediately to Pelargir," he instructed. "The Mayor will be waiting."

Before the messenger could even finish bowing, the king had swept out of his office, all but running in pursuit of the fleeing elf.


	34. Shadow of Pain

**_Note to reviewers_**:

_**Deana, Ali64, AM, Invisigoth3, Slayer3** (So now you're completely obsessed? About time!), **SmilingDragonGirl, lindahoyland, Kirsten, Brina, leralonde, lembas7, kelsey estel, Ainu Laire, Shaan Lien **(nope, poor elf is marked for angst), **eliza61, viggomaniac, linwe, **and **Snow-Glory**_:

_Thanks so much for your continued support. _

_**Karriya **and** DarkStarofMirkwood**: Can't remember if you have reviewed before, but if you have not – welcome, even if it's close to the end._

_**Partheon**: A lovely surprise to have you here, and glad you are enjoying it. Thank you very much for your kind words. _

_**Many of your answers will be answered in this chapter. But this is not another adventure. I did say THE END DRAWS NIGH.**_

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CHAPTER 34: SHADOW OF PAIN

Disturbed by what he had seen, Aragorn hurried after his friend, tracing the route the elf had taken out of the citadel.

The king knew instinctively where Legolas would have been heading, and his instincts proved to be correct when his eyes caught sight of his quarry in the distance. The elf was going beyond the gardens to the woods as he had anticipated, and he was about to call out to him when the golden hair disappeared behind some trees.

"Dratted elven speed," the king muttered as he increased his pace and raced after his friend, but when he neared the spot where the tall oak tree stood beside a small lake – which he knew to be the elf's usual retreat – Legolas was nowhere to be seen.

Aragorn ran the last ten yards to the oak and stopped a few feet from it, panting a little. Here was where the elf would sometimes sit and commune with the trees and birds and anything in the woods that would care to talk to him, and he could stay here for hours just listening to the tales of the wind. But no elf was in sight now.

The king looked around and debated whether to call out the name of his friend, feeling a little foolish in case he had mistakenly followed a phantom.

Then realization struck him as sharply as an acorn that had been playfully thrown at his head by one of his foster brothers when he had been a child.

Of course.

Legolas must be in the tree. The elf was probably sitting on one of the branches looking at him at this moment.

And perhaps he was in the tree because he wanted to be alone.

Aragorn hesitated now, rooted to the spot, feeling trapped. Should he seek the elf among the branches and urge him to descend and talk – or walk away and approach him later?

The king was still troubled by what he had seen, and his heart told him to stay. _Ai, Legolas, _he lamented inwardly, _I know what ails you, my friend. Let me bear this with you. _

But what if Legolas truly wanted to be alone at the moment? What if he did not wish to be found? What if he desired privacy more than he needed his friend?

Aragorn sighed. In the end, it was his respect for his friend that made the decision for him. Reluctantly – and with full knowledge that his every move was being watched by the elven eyes – he pursed his lips and forced his feet to turn in the direction from which he had come.

But before he had taken three steps, he heard several soft swishing sounds above him, and suddenly, Legolas was standing on the ground before him, a questioning look on his face. Aragorn knew at once that the elf had leapt from the tree – probably somersaulted once or twice – and landed as silently and sure-footedly as a cat. Yet it was without the slightest sign of breathlessness that the elf cocked his head and asked:

"Do you really wish to leave, Aragorn?"

The king's eyes roved quickly over the elf's face and frowned at the lack of a glow he had hoped to see return to his friend's cheeks during this period of healing. He stood there for several heartbeats, considering his answer, while the elf looked back without blinking.

_You beckoned to me, mellon nin, even if you did not know it_, Aragorn responded voicelessly_. I do not want to leave, but I do not wish to intrude._

"You are never an intrusion, Estel," Legolas said before the king could utter anything.

In awe of the earnest blue eyes that had seen into his heart, Aragorn's mouth fell open before the corners turned upward into a lopsided smile. But he noted with concern the pallor of the elven face… and something else there… something that disturbed him, that he could not quite name.

The question on the tip of his tongue was held back when Legolas touched his elbow and walked past him to the base of the oak tree, sitting down in an easy movement and looking up at the king in a silent invitation to join him.

"Have you completed your urgent task?" the elf enquired as Aragorn lowered himself to the grass, crossing his long legs so that the two friends faced each other.

"Yes, I have," Aragorn replied with a note of satisfaction. "A large number of the older homesteads in Pelargir collapsed during a heavy storm…" The king paused, wondering why Legolas had started at the mention of the town. He continued warily, looking closely at the elven face. "I have dispatched medical supplies and treasury funds for new homes, and some of the City's builders will be riding there in the next few days to lend aid as well."

At the elf's silence, Aragorn prompted: "Perhaps this news discomforts you because you have seen those homesteads? They were close to the river banks, the reports said," Aragorn added, recalling that Legolas and his elves often had to ride the Pelargir ferry across to South Ithilien. "Or perhaps they were not obvious to you … since you were mostly in the woods across the river, were you not?"

"I may have seen them," Legolas affirmed, but his tone sounded curiously evasive, and his eyes took on a faraway look, which kindled a spark of concern in Aragorn. But Legolas gave him a strange smile then, and said: "I am just glad you will not have to leave home again so soon after your return."

A query still lingered in Aragorn's mind, but he pushed the thought aside, for he had come after Legolas to speak about a piece of information he had received this morning that had nothing to do with the event in Pelargir – information that he felt Legolas should have shared with him days ago.

The king pulled his legs up and rested his forearms on his knees, studying the elf and waiting to see if he would continue or say something new. But no other speech came from the elven lips; only the woods spoke to Aragorn, whispering tales that none but Rangers and the Firstborn would understand.

"Now that I have settled that matter, Legolas… I have no other pressing matters for the rest of the afternoon," he stated meaningfully, and waited again.

Still, Legolas would not speak. His eyes looked out over the small lake in front of them, following the dance of white blossoms from nearby trees as they waltzed their way to the rippled surface of the water, led by the music of a gentle breeze. Minutes drifted by while a melancholic peace settled quietly over the scene before him and seeped into his elven heart.

"When were you going to tell me, Legolas?" the question – soft and sad – came at last, disturbing the reverie.

The elf turned towards the king, surprise in his features. "Tell you what, Estel?"

The grey eyes of the man bored intensely into the blue elven ones, holding them.

_Do not deny your pain, my friend_, the king's heart pleaded. _Not to me, please – not to me._

The elf said nothing still, but he now understood what Aragorn was referring to. Seeing the futility of further concealment, he sighed, looking away from the king to stare at the ground beneath his feet.

"Forgive me, Legolas," Aragorn continued quietly. "I have not examined your wounds for several days now, but I wish I had – "

"No apology is needed, Aragorn," the elf interrupted without lifting his head. "Your duties are more important."

"No, not more important," Aragorn countered firmly. "Perhaps more pressing, but never more important." He kept an unflinchingly gaze on his friend till the elf looked up and smiled his acceptance of the king's sentiments.

"I spoke with the healers this morning," Aragorn continued, noting the slight fidget from the elf at those words. "They told me that the wounds on your chest are healing much too slowly, and more so for an elf." His eyes were full of gentle sympathy as he asked: "That is why you are here, is it not?"

Legolas looked as if he could not decide whether to confirm or deny it. "The cuts were deep," he offered in explanation, but it did not satisfy Aragorn.

The king kept his eyes on his friend, who had bent his head so that his long hair partially shielded his face.

"May I?" Aragorn asked softly.

The elf whipped his head up, puzzled.

"May I do now what I should have done days ago?" the king asked again, his eyes indicating the site for which he was asking permission to view.

A refusal – prompted by obstinacy rather than displeasure – was on Legolas' lips, but the piercing grey gaze changed his mind, and he sighed in resignation. Despite the polite request, Aragorn would not leave him alone till he relented, the elf knew. He hesitated a few moments, then began to unlace his shirt with nimble fingers. Soon, the junction of the crossed lines could be seen. Then the elven fingers froze, and Legolas dropped his hands to his knees, unwilling to go on.

Aragorn waited tactfully, but the elf kept his head lowered and made no further move. The concern of the healer took over now, and Aragorn pulled himself forward so that he was close enough to reach out and place his hands over the elf's, letting his silent grasp express his love and beg acquiescence from Legolas.

When the elf gave no sign of objection, Aragorn took a deep breath and finished undoing the shirt, till he could see once again the awful mark of Sarambaq in its entirety. A fresh wave of anger and compassion swept over the healer as his eyes noted that even after so many days, the wounds still looked raw in places, surrounded by a greenish tint as if they festered. Despite the presence of healing herbs, they were still crusted with blood that had not quite dried.

Legolas sucked in a breath and gritted his teeth as the king, trying not to hurt the elf, ran his fingers lightly over skin where the wounds appeared rawest. The elf had constantly felt the pain since Sarambaq first carved the mark on his skin, which was like the torturous sting of sharp talons raking across soft, vulnerable flesh. The intensity of the pain had abated, yet not quickly enough, and it remained long after such hurt should have departed with the ministration of herbs.

Aragorn almost choked on the bile that rose in his throat. "It was no ordinary blade he used, was it?" he asked bitterly.

Legolas kept his head down as he responded, clearly disturbed by the memories. "I could not tell. It was small and dark, but I sensed that it was... tainted somehow." He paused before adding: "And he chanted something when he – he…"

Aragorn's grey eyes widened in concern, and he tilted his head down to seek his friend's face. "What did he chant?"

Silence.

"What was it he chanted, Legolas? Tell me – "

"I did not understand it, Estel," Legolas replied, looking up suddenly, and Aragorn saw that his eyes were pools of liquid sorrow and confusion. "But he was a servant of Mordor; who knows what he had been instructed in? He held Dol Guldur against the elves for so long, it cannot have been by physical might alone. Who knows what dark power he had been vested with when he was strong, and how much? The incantations he used on me – who can tell their purpose? Perhaps they were to weaken me further before the fight... perhaps… I know not. I only know that these marks on my chest have lasted because of them."

Aragorn saw the agony in the elf's eyes and clenched his fists, wishing Sarambaq were before him so that he could exact fitting punishment upon the villain that would be just as torturous as what he had inflicted upon this friend he so dearly loved.

Legolas immediately regretted the anguish that his revelation had wrought on the king's face, and spoke again quickly. "But he is gone, Aragorn," he said. "And so will whatever power he had over me… over us. It cannot last. Already the pain lessens. I cannot be certain when it will go away completely… but it lessens."

Aragorn looked at him disbelievingly, and opened his mouth to voice his doubt.

"I speak the truth, Estel," the elf claimed before one word could escape the king's lips. "The hurt diminishes."

"Not quickly enough."

"No, but it is bearable."

"It did not seem so bearable when you were fleeing the citadel earlier," Aragorn challenged.

Legolas looked defeated. "There are… moments," he admitted slowly, his shoulders sagging. "There are times when it overwhelms me… and the pain is not always a physical one." He paused, and it seemed to Aragorn that he debated with himself whether to reveal more of his mind.

"I see his face taunting me," he continued at last, sending a horrible chill up the listener's spine. "The ghosts of Men have held no terror for me, Aragorn, not even on the Paths of the Dead, yet I recoil from the sight of this man's face. It torments me, and it brings fresh pain where none should linger."

Aragorn sighed in compassion at the sight of the turmoil that Legolas tried to hide, and he seethed with fury at Sarambaq, for the man was haunting them even after his departure.

"I wish I could remove this pain from you, my friend, so that it troubles you no longer," he lamented from the depths of his heart. "I wish I could help you bear it; nay, I would bear it myself – "

"I would die before I let such pain touch you, Estel!" Legolas swore with feeling and immediately regretted the startled anxiety his tone wrought on the man's face. The elf hurriedly sought to assure him, grasping the clenched fists. "Nay, my friend, be at peace. The memory will not hold sway over me for long, I will not let it," he said. "Let it not trouble you either. _Saes_, please, let him not have the victory."

"But you should have told me earlier, Legolas," the king said, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I would have offered healing. Or were you going to tell me at all? Does your father – ?"

"This is why I chose not to tell you yet, Estel," Legolas replied, looking at him with moist eyes. "This is why I wished to wait till later, when I could talk about it without anguish appearing on my face… so that it does not appear on the faces of those who care about me."

The elf's confession took Aragorn aback, striking a strange and unexpected note of guilt in him, and he composed his expression immediately.

"Your decision was your right to make, Legolas," the man conceded gently, "and I believe these wounds will mend even if the mending is slow, but I just wish I had known of your pain. Perhaps I could have – "

"There are things you cannot help me bear, _mellon nin_," the elf stated quietly, and the king's speech failed. Aragorn wondered that words so softly delivered could silence him more powerfully than a chorus of shouts could.

In the same low voice, the elf added: "And as I said, Estel, my hurts are not always physical ones."

A distant look returned to the elven eyes at these words, and Aragorn felt strangely shut out again. A discomforting sense of panic arose in him.

"I thought… after our talk in the cave – there would be no more secrets between us?" he pressed.

Legolas looked away, as if he was thinking about something far removed from this time and space. The moments marched by, and Aragorn felt uneasy. Had he said something wrong, he wondered.

"No, Estel, there will be no secrets between us," the elf said at last, turning back to Aragorn with assurance in his eyes. "To that agreement I hold."

Just as Aragorn began to breathe more easily, the elf gave him a strange smile that was both secretive and sad, and added: "But there are some things that must be told only at the right time."

The king's knitted brows reflected his puzzlement even as he mulled over the sensibility of that statement. Legolas noted the emotions warring within his friend and clasped his shoulder, locking the grey eyes with his own.

"You will know in the end, that I promise you, Estel."

Aragorn sat there listening to the words meant to comfort him, but wondered instead what hidden meaning lay behind them. Again, there was that… _something_… in the elven countenance that disturbed him. What was Legolas not telling – ?

Before he could enquire further, a shout reached them.

"Ah, there you are, my elusive friends!" the jovial voice of Gimli called, and they turned to see the dwarf several yards away, striding stoutly towards them and finger wagging furiously in their direction. "Sneaking off to escape my stories, are you? You'd rather listen to trees and squirrels, would you? I'll have you know, Elf, that your father found them most engaging, and he was loathe for me to stop, but the wine and the pipeweed had run out…"

Legolas grinned in response to the playful chastisement but quickly laced up his shirt, begging Aragorn with his eyes to conceal what he had seen. The king clasped his forearm and said quietly: "I will look at it again later."

The elf began a whispered protest. "It will hea – "

"I will look at it later," Aragorn repeated in a tone that would allow no further argument, and Legolas nodded with a sigh of submission before putting on a bright smile for the approaching dwarf.

"Come join us, Lord of the Caves," he called out to Gimli, injecting cheer into his voice, "but I have neither pipeweed nor drink to offer you, though I would have thought you would have had enough of both since the mid-day meal."

"Ah, those are problems easily remedied by your kitchen staff and a visit to your chambers, are they not, Aragorn?" Gimli countered, and the king laughed, inviting the dwarf to sit beside him.

"Indeed, we shall take care of those small troubles in a little while," Aragorn assured him. "But first pray tell – where is your admiring audience?"

"Off to their chambers, if I had to guess," Gimli replied, plopping himself down, "although your father is looking for you, Legolas, so we had better not tarry long. Hamille wanted to come and get you, but I said I wanted the privilege of dragging you back there myself, if I could get you to stop talking to trees and beasts and things that you claim talk back to you. Have you not had enough of their boring accounts yet? After all, how far can trees move? What adventures do they go through? Now in the Glittering Caves – "

"I was speaking with more than just the trees and squirrels, Gimli," Legolas chimed in, grinning and casting Aragorn a meaningful glance. Then his face softened as he added: "And it is not possible to tire of conversation with any of them, for they reside ever in my heart, and how shall I tire of those that I choose to keep there?"

Aragorn heard the words and smiled. With his eyes and his nod, he sent the same message back to the elf.

"Well then, Elf," the dwarf said, "for the sake of our friendship, let us hope you will not tire of my stories when we ride to Rohan tomorrow." Legolas let out a mock groan, but the dwarf ignored it and pressed on. "I claim it is far better to listen to tales of mirth, my friends, than to dwell on darker memories – past or recent – would you not agree?"

Aragorn and Legolas drew back in surprise, for the dwarf's statement and question, though delivered in a seemingly nonchalant manner, were pregnant with meaning. The elf and the king exchanged a swift glance before staring wordlessly at Gimli, who merely returned their looks with raised bushy eyebrows. Then his eyes moved to rest on the elf, saying a hundred silent words.

Slowly, Legolas smiled, wondering anew at the sensitivity and understanding in one so seemingly full of frivolous – even if entertaining – chatter. Gimli would not have known about the delayed healing of the wounds, the elf was certain, but he had apparently noticed his restlessness and had elected not to allude to it in the company of others. Too long had he been absent from this good friend's company, Legolas thought with affection, but now he looked forward to the journey with him.

"Indeed, my friend, you speak true," the elf finally said with an appreciative smile. "You shall have my undivided attention on our ride, but on condition you mount your own horse, for how else shall I have the delight of witnessing your most entertaining expressions?"

"Ah, now you tease me, Elf," the dwarf grunted in mock hurt. "No need to remind me that I am no longer welcome at your back. I will ride my own steed, and prove my worth as a rider of Rohan, for I now reside in their domain and have benefited from the instruction of the horse lords!"

His two friends laughed as they all rose slowly to their feet.

"That is good, Gimli, that is good. But come, I had better not keep _Adar_ waiting," Legolas said, starting to walk back to the citadel. "He seems most anxious to depart for the caves you have described so vividly for him, and he may have questions for me."

Gimli's chest puffed out again as he strode, although he tried to hide his pleasure.

Aragorn's voice, however, reflected concern and a tinge of glumness as he breathed a question into the elven ear: "Tomorrow, _mellon nin –_ is it not too soon?"

Legolas turned to see a worried look on the face of the king, and he understood the meaning of the enquiry.

The elf hesitated a moment before he replied: "I will bring supplies, and the journey will help me forget." After a moment, he added quietly: "I wish the City could spare you, Aragorn, but since it cannot, you will be with us in spirit – each step and every mile."

With that, Legolas placed an arm around each of his friends, treasuring their company as they made their way back to the citadel, and Elf and dwarf were soon engaged in their usual exchange of taunts and insults that neither meant.

Aragorn shook his head in amusement as he listened to their banter, thinking how good it was to hear the elf laugh again. The past weeks had stolen so much of the elven spirit and buoyancy that lay beneath his soft-spoken demeanor, and the years of living in human lands before that could not have been easy on him either.

_We have both had to work hard, my friend, _the king thought, _but no longer will I let too much time pass in which I miss the company of those who are dearest to me. Sarambaq is gone, your wounds will heal, and we will take time to ride and taste our lives again once you are returned from the Greenwood. Though I am mortal, my life stretches yet before me, and I would that you walked down the paths of my years with me once more. I would that your laugh ring through them all as it does now, even in the world of Men. _

As if in answer to Aragorn's resolve, a burst of mirth came from Legolas' lips at a playful rejoinder from Gimli. At the sound of the silvery laughter, the feelings of disquiet Aragorn had felt earlier began to recede, and he recalled another pair of friends who were constantly bickering as well.

_Ah, what a pair they were, Pippin and Merry,_ Aragorn thought fondly. _Are Sam and Rosie well, I wonder? What does little Elanor look like now? How they must all miss Frodo…ah, Frodo… he would be with them still if he had not…_

And suddenly, in the midst of the laughter from his friends, just as the heart of the king had begun to lighten with hope, a sharp chill gripped him, causing his step to falter.

Legolas spun around in surprise, causing Gimli to halt as well.

"Aragorn?" the elf enquired.

The king stared at his elven friend so hard that the elf knitted his brows in concern. The man parted his lips to utter something, but nothing issued forth.

"Aragorn!" Gimli thundered. "Have you been struck dumb, man? What is the matter?"

The elven hand on Aragorn's shoulder shook it gently, and the king snapped out of his stupor, although his eyes were still locked on Legolas' puzzled face.

_Can it be – ? _Aragorn asked silently, as he gazed into the blue eyes. _No, not now, not yet, _he pleaded

As soon as the thought had crossed his mind, he pushed it aside vehemently, unwilling to consider it, and muttered an explanation to hide his perturbation from his two companions. "I tripped," he offered lamely. "My mind was preoccupied."

Legolas looked at him doubtfully, seeing nothing on the ground near the king's feet that would explain his claim, but Gimli merely snorted, hiding his affection for the man beneath his gruffness. "Your mind is too filled with stuffy trade agreements and court squabbles, Aragorn! You need a break. Too bad you cannot come with us tomorrow."

The elf sensed something more than an unlikely stumble of a Ranger's feet, but decided that this was not the time to enquire further, so he merely smiled and let Aragorn fall in step with them again before resuming their walk. Gimli soon demanded their attention again with an account of how he learned to ride on his own.

The king found himself moving forward in stride, and his ears took in Gimli's spirited voice and Legolas' light laughter, but his mind felt in a daze. He placed one foot in front of the other without really knowing where he was going, and his eyes saw nothing of what was before him, for all his thought was bent on a numbing realization:

He knew now what it was that had plagued him about Legolas' countenance throughout their earlier conversation.

Discreetly, he studied the elven face that was at this moment smiling in merriment, but the king recalled how that face had worn a very different look just a while ago.

It was the look Frodo had had in the days following his return from Mount Doom – the look he tried to hide from the Fellowship, but which did not always escape the sharp eyes of Aragorn and Gandalf. The king remembered now: the Ringbearer had been stabbed by the blade of a servant of Sauron at Weathertop, and he had later been poisoned by the sting of Shelob; although he had recovered from them both, the pain and darkness had never really left him. Whenever the old throbbing from that blade returned, or the old illness took him, a shadow would cross the hobbit's face.

It was such a shadow that Aragorn had seen flitting across the face of the elf prince this afternoon: a shadow of a pain that never really departs.

Aragorn felt his heart clench. Legolas' laughter tinkled in his ears, but it was the elf's earlier words that resounded with frightening insistence in his mind:

_There are some things that must be told only at the right time…You will know in the end._

The words returned now to haunt the man, and his mind gave them new meaning as he wove them with the memory of Frodo's hurts, feeling an even deeper gloom settle upon his spirit. He found himself mouthing a silent plea.

_Say not that it is time, for I am not ready to lose him yet. Eru, I am not ready…_

Aragorn's breath choked in his throat as he realized that the darkness that had stalked Frodo was now threatening the elven friend whose companionship he could not imagine being without for the remaining years of his life. Yet even now, he feared the early sting of bereavement, for the Shadow – that lasting gift from accursed Morgul servants – had already driven one victim to leave all that he loved in Middle-earth much sooner than he desired, on a final journey West to seek rest in the Undying Lands.


	35. The Heart of the Elf

**_Note to reviewers_**:

_**Shaan Lien, Slayer3, AM, Ali64, Elf771, Ithil-Valon, Ainu Laire **(I have decided you are quite mad, lol)**, SmilingDragonGirl **(I understand your trauma, I do)**, Deana, Kirsten Z, lindahoyland, DarkStarofMirkwood, nautika, Kelsey Estel, Red Squirrel, Brina **and** Lembas7**_:

_Wonderful to hear from you as usual, and thank you all for your support. For obvious reasons, I cannot answer your questions as to whether this is AU or not, what Legolas is going to do, etc… yet. The answers will be in these final chapters, and I shall try not to be too long in posting them. _

_Here are the next two…does that let me off the hook for two weeks? _:-)

* * *

CHAPTER 35: THE HEART OF THE ELF

Clutching a handful of _athelas_, Aragorn made his way to Legolas' room in the citadel, his step lighter than it had been a few hours ago. He had just reached a satisfying agreement with his councilors on a minor but persistent problem, which did much to lift his spirits.

His earlier fears of Legolas leaving Middle-earth because of his wounds still nettled him, but with each step he took, he began to hope that he could heal the elf and remove the Shadow so that his friend would suffer no longer – and perhaps then he would not have to sail as Frodo did.

_For his sake, and for mine, _he thought honestly.

Whatever power the Valar had blessed his hands with – it had, during the Quest, driven the darkness from Eowyn and Merry when they fell victim to the Black Breath of an even more terrible servant of Mordor: the Witchking, chief of the Nazgûl. The memory made Aragorn hope that the shadow of Sarambaq – a much lesser minion – would be easier to dispel.

When he reached Legolas' room, he found the outer door a little ajar. Instructing his guards to stay outside, he walked in and called quietly in case the elf was resting, or with his father. But the bedchamber within was empty. The only movement came from the thin curtains billowing in the breeze that blew into the chamber through the open balcony doors. Aragorn could see beyond them the gardens and woods that the elf loved – the same scene that could be viewed from one side of his own chambers.

Aragorn was about to turn back when he heard voices wafting in with the breeze. He would have continued his exit from the room if he had not heard one word carried in on the wind: his own name.

Curiously, he moved towards the balcony, lightening his step as only one with elvish blood could. When he reached it, he stood there for long minutes, transfixed by what he heard.

* * *

_Legolas Greenleaf long under tree_

_In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea!_

_If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore,_

_Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more!_

Legolas and Thranduil sat on a stone bench beneath the balcony of Legolas' room, their fair faces caressed by the breeze that sighed around them. The long golden hair of father and son lifted and mingled behind and around them so that whoever laid their eyes upon them now would see a breathtaking picture of soft radiance framing elven faces too fair to be measured by the words of Men.

They spoke in serious tones, but did not bother to hush their voices, for none save the elves and Aragorn would understand Sindarin.

"Is your sea-longing known to Elessar, _ion nin_?" was what Aragorn heard from the balcony above, the query phrased by the sonorous voice of the elf king.

Legolas paused to consider his answer. Over and over in the past few days, as it had many times before, his mind echoed with the warning that the Lady Galadriel had sent him about what would happen if he ever heard the cry of the gulls. What she prophesied had held true for the past ten years, and the words resounded in his head again when he replied.

"Aragorn heard the message of the Lady when Gandalf spoke it… but he cannot fathom the sentiment, _Adar_. No Man can, for they are not subject to the same call."

"I must confess I cannot either, Legolas, for I have not heard it," his father said. "Yet I know many who had, and they told me of the torment of denying it for too long." The king looked at his son meaningfully and stated: "They have all since sailed."

Thranduil waited patiently while Legolas pondered the unstated meaning of his father's words. Then the younger elf spoke.

"It is not always a torment, _Adar_," he began. "Most of the time, it is more of… an aching… a restlessness within me that needs to be quelled. I feel drawn towards… something… and it calls to me to seek it and surrender to it."

Thranduil noted how the features on his son's fair face knotted as he struggled to describe the affliction. "Is it so terrible to bear?" the elf king asked softly.

Unknown to Thranduil, he was not the only king awaiting his son's answer.

Legolas sighed. "It is, sometimes," he answered honestly, unaware that a human heart above him tightened upon hearing this confession. "When the call is strong – I find no peace and no rest no matter where I turn. But at other times, I find solace in unlikely places."

"Where?"

"In the woods of Ithilien. Although the Lady spoke true – that I would no longer find lasting peace under the trees – they offer me more comfort than stone walls," said Legolas. "And solace, too, I find in the company of those who are dear to me."

Thranduil nodded slowly, having expected the latter part of his answer, and his question came without reserve. "Is it because of the Lord Elessar that you have not given in to it and sailed these past years? Is your love for him so great that you would bear the painful call of the Sea to stay till his passing?"

A faraway look glazed Legolas' eyes as he pondered the question. It was not the gardens and sounds of Minas Tirith that he saw and heard now, but a distant scene and dialogue:

_He was seated with Gimli, Merry and Pippin outside the Houses of Healing during the Quest, and the dwarf was recounting to the hobbits the terrible fear he had felt as the Grey Company traversed the chilly and dreadful Paths of the Dead. _

"_I was held to the road only by the will of Aragorn," the dwarf confessed._

_Legolas nodded in agreement and added his own sentiments: "And by the love of him also, for all those who come to know him come to love him after their own fashion." _

"_For my part… I wish that the war was now over," Gimli lamented a little later. "Yet whatever is still to do, I hope to have a part in it, for the honour of the folk of the Lonely Mountain."_

"_And I for the folk of the Great Wood," Legolas declared, "and for the love of the Lord of the White Tree."_

Legolas' thoughts returned to the present, to the question his father had posed: was he staying because of Aragorn?

"It is not the only reason, _Adar_, but it is perhaps the strongest," Legolas admitted at last. "I do not fear leaving you, for I know that you too will sail in time and I will see you again. But my mortal friends… Estel…"

Legolas shook his head, and his father waited.

"He has always been dear to me, _Adar_, even before the Quest – but it was during those months when our lives and deaths were in each other's hands that the bonds of trust and friendship became unbreakable. His nobility grew before my eyes, and I saw then the great man he was destined to become even before he was crowned. He commanded my loyalty then as no other has, save you."

A wistful smile graced the face of the elf prince.

"But in the last ten years of his reign, I have also seen in this great king the vulnerabilities that make him the remarkable person he is. He is a stern ruler, but he has much compassion. He is strong, but he can be weakened. His patience goes to great lengths, but his fury can burst forth at a touch.

"He has all of Gondor and the Northern Lands at his command, yet he seeks the help of a dwarf in rebuilding his City, and he begs a group of elves – a fading race – to make his forests live and breathe again. The Lord of the White Tree, _Adar_, is a human king who can rule tens of thousands, but needs the company of two or three who truly love him. He can strike fear into the fiercest of armies… yet his heart would break at the loss of the two or three he holds closest."

Thranduil was silenced by this picture of the Lord Elessar that his son painted as no other had ever done: a great king, and a very sensitive Man.

"That is why he has had my love and my loyalty, _Adar_. Since the Quest, I told myself that I would not leave him unless my life were torn from me."

Tears streamed down the face of the man who stood unmoving on the balcony above. He felt a pang of guilt for listening to the conversation, but his feet were rooted to the spot.

"But what of yourself, Legolas?" Thranduil asked gently. "Elessar is a worthy friend, of that I have no doubt, and I am grateful that he treasures your companionship so deeply. Yet, you are my son, and it is your well-being that claims my first concern: how long will you let yourself suffer this sea-longing?"

"Aragorn's life is but one drop in the vast ocean of my lifespan, _Adar_, as is Gimli's – but that drop is precious, and I would drink of it ere it dried up, as it will all too soon."

At the look of consternation on his father's face, Legolas hastened to say more.

"Perhaps it is because of the brevity of the time I have with Aragorn, with all of them, that makes my appreciation of them so intense. Would you not do the same for someone whom you knew would be taken from you tomorrow? Would you not savor whatever time was left, _Adar_?"

The elf king pondered these words and nodded reluctantly. "Yes, if I had known your _naneth _would be taken from me, I would have. So I understand your commitment to him, _ion nin._"

Legolas smiled, but his father was not finished.

"Yet you must remember, Legolas: this world is no longer ours. The age of the Firstborn is over; it has long been over. Men now rule, and not all Men welcome us. What happened with Sarambaq is just one example of what may happen to us should we dwell longer. More and more, Men will find us strange as our presence becomes less common, for our kin diminish. Men will fear us because we are strange to them, and fear can breed contempt. Fear can lead Men to take up arms against us, Legolas, if our deeds should one day run counter to their expectations."

The note of sadness in the elf king's voice grew stronger as he continued.

"The fear of Men poses a danger to all who are different – it is the way of the world. The longer you stay in Arda, the greater the risk that you will not see Valinor as you desire. My fear is that all the sacrifices you make for Elessar will be for naught."

Legolas opened his mouth to voice an argument, but Thranduil would not be daunted.

"And now _this_, Legolas…" the elf king went on, "…this mark of Mordor left on you assails you with a darkness that I cannot comprehend, but which I can sense and loathe. It is no longer just the sea-longing that haunts you. The Shadow may grow to cloak you in its power, and the Undying Lands are the only place where you will find healing from it.

"Legolas – this darkness shadows you, your wounds pain you, the world of Men threatens you, and the sea-longing afflicts you. If there was ever a time that you should sail, my son – it is now! Surely – with all that has happened, you can fathom my concern, and consider what I hope for you."

"I have thought about it, Adar," Legolas countered gently, "but whether I act on it – and when – remains to be seen."

"I do not think Aragorn would hold you to your word to stay here after all this," the elf king pressed on. "He would be too noble to impose such a selfish demand on you."

Legolas winced at the words, recalling again his conversation with Gimli and the hobbits outside the Houses of Healing after Mordor's assault on Minas Tirith.

_The four companions of the Fellowship looked out over the river Anduin on which Legolas and Gimli had sailed up in the ships of the Black Fleet. _

"_Look! Gulls!" Legolas cried. "A wonder they are to me and a trouble to my heart. Never in all my life had I met them, until I came to Pelargir and there we heard them crying in the air... Then I stood still, forgetting war in Middle-earth; for their wailing voices spoke to me of the Sea. The Sea! Alas! I have not beheld it. But deep in the hearts of all my kindred lies the sea-longing which is perilous to stir. Alas! for the gulls. No peace shall I have again under beech or elm."_

"_Say not so!" begged Gimli. "If all the fair folk take to the Havens, it will be a duller place for those doomed to stay."_

"_Dull and dreary indeed!" Merry added. "You must not go to the Havens, Legolas. There will always be some folk, big or little, and even a few wise dwarves like Gimli, who will need you."_

_Do not go to the Havens, Legolas. Do not leave Middle-earth._

Legolas smiled fondly at the recollection and shook his head in response to his father's question.

"No, _Adar_, Aragorn would not demand that I remain in Middle-earth; he would wish that I did so freely," Legolas said with confidence. "But even if he did ask it of me, it would not be because he was selfish, it would be because he is a Man." _Or dwarf, or hobbit_, he thought, smiling ruefully. "None of our people would beg it of us, _Adar, _for they know we will meet again in the West. But our parting with mortals is forever. If they asked, I would not hold it against them. They have a right to try and hold on to the ones they love."

"Still, _ion nin, _I ask that you think about this, and reconsider your stand," the father argued. "I may not leave for a long time, for the Sea calls not to me, yet I know I too will sail when our people have grown tired of a world that no longer welcomes us. But you, Legolas – should not wait, for all the reasons I have given. _Saes_, please – will you not open your heart again to the West? Will you not consider this seriously?"

The silence after the request seemed deafening to both kings listening. Then the soft reply, riding on the wave of a sigh of sadness, came from the elf prince.

"Very well, _Adar._ I will."

On the balcony above them, Aragorn had stopped breathing. The _athelas_ in his hands fell to the floor, strewn about his feet like the pieces of his shattered hopes.

* * *

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**_Note_**: The lines in italics are either quoted directly or adapted from Tolkien's _Return of the King. _In case you were not aware, the title of this story is also from this episode in the book.


	36. The Heart of the Man

CHAPTER 36: THE HEART OF THE MAN

The night sky outside Legolas' room glittered with the thousands of stars sprinkled across its expanse, and the fragrance of honeysuckle and roses through the balcony doors delighted the senses of the elf prince that had helped bring the sweetness to these gardens. Legolas loved such a night, when Middle-earth seemed graced with a quiet, untouchable beauty.

But for Aragorn – who was once again in the sleeping quarters of his friend – such joy eluded him tonight.

He stood in a daze waiting for Legolas to prepare himself so that he could lay the healing hands of a king on the accursed mark of Sarambaq and strive to purge the darkness of Mordor from his wounds.

The strong king of Gondor was numbed momentarily by his own pain as he recalled the conversation he had overheard. Would Legolas sail now, leaving his mortal friends to grieve his departure?

If he but asked Legolas to stay, Aragorn thought without pride, the gentle elf would deny his sea-longing and bear the pain for his sake. But could he bring himself to demand such a sacrifice?

The emotions warred within him more violently than any duel he had had with orcs.

_Do not depart from my life yet, my friend, for I need you still. _

_Nay! Find your peace, Legolas, in a land that will welcome you – leave this world of Men in which your kin will fade, in which Men will – in time – fail to recognize your beauty and goodness._

_Yet, I would have you stay – please stay till my passing as you said you would._

_But… I will not be selfish. I cannot hold you back._

The struggle within him tore him apart, but Aragorn forced himself to cast his attention on Legolas' wounds instead. When the shirt was finally removed, the healer's eyes studied them. They looked much as they did this morning: close to festering instead of healing, no matter what the elf said in denial.

The sight of the ugly wounds twisted Aragorn's heart and ended his battle of emotions. In the end, it had to be Legolas' recovery that was paramount, he conceded, tasting the bitterness in his mouth.

_I will not ask you to stay, my friend, or I would not be a true one to you. Go and find your peace._

It seemed his heart would break with the weight of its grief as he swore silently at a man who was no longer there.

_Curse you, Sarambaq._ _Curse you for doing this to him, curse you for doing this to me._

"Aragorn?"

The voice of the elf jerked him back to the task at hand. He lay reclined on his bed, waiting patiently. Preoccupied with removing his tunic and shirt and preparing himself, Legolas had only sensed the bitter anger in Aragorn's last thoughts.

"He is gone, Estel. Think of him no more," the gentle reminder reached the man's ears. Seeing the look of weariness on the face of the king, Legolas started to sit up. "I know that such ministration of healing demands much of your strength, Estel. If you are too tired, let us leave it…"

"Nay, Legolas, I am not," Aragorn assured him, composing his features and staying the elf with his hand. "I am merely bending my thoughts towards what I need to do. Lie down, my friend, and close your eyes. Fight this with me."

Legolas smiled and obeyed, resolved to overcome and discard the accursed remnants of Mordor from his body. Soon, the blue eyes were hidden behind pale lids fringed by long lashes, making the strong warrior and elf prince look for all the world like an innocent child in slumber.

Aragorn studied the elven face for a few moments, moved by the love he felt for this friend he feared losing above all others.

_If the power of healing be still in my hands,_ he called silently to the Valar, _let it flow through them now, for there is a Firstborn who needs it – and I cannot tell if this is the last time I shall be able to do this for him._

He had to choke back his emotions and crush them as hard as he crushed the _athelas _in his hands, little assuaged by the healing scent of the leaves that would have easily lifted his spirits at any other time, were he not so weighted down by grief.

Legolas went limp, his trust in the human king clearly written on the elven face. Aragorn laid a hand first on the smooth, pale brow.

_Legolas Thranduilion, I share with you the strength of my body and my spirit. By the power of the line of Númenór, and the blood of Lúthien within me, I bid you be free of the Shadow. Let it haunt you no longer. _

At first there was only a calmness – a nothingness – in the touch of the healer. Then Aragorn gasped as a feeling of malevolence surged against his hands and the image of Sarambaq's leering face entered his mind. Keeping his hand firmly on the brow, he strove with the evil, pouring his own strength into the battle of wills, not yielding for even a moment. The elf beneath him began to tense and breathe a little more rapidly, his brows knitted in discomfort as his friend fought to free him. Voices – whispered incantations woven with malice – filled the healer's mind and raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He strove even more fiercely and more urgently in a silent duel with the demonic spirit of Sarambaq.

Sweat poured from the brow of the healer and down his eyes that were closed in deep concentration, but finally, he prevailed, and the apparition of the minion of Sauron twisted in agony, blurring and dissipating like mist in the heat of day.

Aragorn released a deep sigh at the same time that Legolas did. Opening his eyes, the healer brushed the sweat from them, and noted that Legolas' lids were still closed, but the pale elven face looked calm again, and a wisp of a smile passed his lips.

_May the ghost of Sarambaq trouble you no more, _he said silently to the elf. _But I wish this were enough to keep you here in Middle-earth_, he thought sadly.

Aragorn did not know if the darkness of Mordor could be kept wholly at bay, or if the wounds would fully heal. But even if he could overcome those, he realized, no army, no king's hands, and no power in Middle-earth would be able to remove the torment of the sea-longing – for that was the call of the Valar themselves that no mortal or Firstborn could defeat.

It was a bitter truth, and Aragorn would dwell no further on it. He once again turned back to what he could do for his friend, and looked at the wounds on Legolas' chest. He studied the four arms of the long, crossed lines and the junction where they met, and marked with his mind the five spots where he would place his hands. The healer breathed against the crushed leaves on his hands and bent all his will toward the task.

Laying both hands on the first of the four arms, he was overwhelmed by his feelings and thoughts about all that the elf meant to him, till his heart seemed like it would break.

_May healing flow to you through these hands, noble friend. _

_This touch is for your unflinching loyalty, my comrade-in-arms, and for the aid you have given me in countless ways and different places, for your readiness to purchase my life with your own._

He lifted his hands slowly and placed them gently on the next spot.

_This touch is for the laughter you have sown in my life and the tears we have shed together, for being my faithful companion in good times and bad._

Legolas felt a warm comfort spread slowly across his chest, a comfort that also felt strangely sad.

_This is for the many lessons I have learnt from your wisdom, my elven friend, and from your fresh innocence as you bonded yourself to my mortal life. _

_This is for the forgiveness you freely give even when I do not deserve it, most patient of souls._

Finally, Aragorn placed his hands at the center of the mark and the center of Legolas' chest, where the lines met.

_And this, Legolas – this is for the pure love you have blessed my life with, dearest of friends, a love poured unceasingly from a heart that demands nothing in return. This heart that beats beneath my hands… this heart would still deny its longing and make its biggest sacrifice for me if I would but ask… _

_But it is because I know you would give it that I would not ask of it of you._

His hands remained a moment longer for one final surge of his healing power.

_And so I let you go, beloved friend, to let you find peace in a Land that will hurt you no more. _

With that, he lifted his hands and felt his tears leak from the corners of his eyes, no longer able to stem his feelings of sorrow. He stifled a sob, and immediately felt two warm hands grasping his own. Through moist eyes, he saw a pair of blue orbs beneath furrowed brows, gazing at him with concern.

"Do not weep for me, Estel," Legolas said gently.

Aragorn returned his gaze, mute in the grief of his thoughts. _Does he know …?_

"These wounds are not worth your tears, for I can bear them," the elf continued in a reassuring tone, "and they will fade just as surely as all others that the hands of the king have touched in healing."

_Legolas, truest of friends – I know they will heal, _Aragorn explained silently. _I weep not because of these wounds, but because they will heal in a distant place where I cannot follow_. _I weep because you will leave me far too soon. _

He felt his breath catch in his throat.

_Yet, I do not want you to see my grief, I do not want you to deny the sea-longing for my sake. _

"Yes, my friend, you will heal, and these are but foolish worries," he said aloud quickly so that Legolas would not sense his thoughts. "I ask only that … whatever happens in consequence, I shall know."

He masked his sadness even though every fibre of his body dreaded the moment when Legolas would inform him of his desire to sail. He looked at the elf, who merely smiled.

"I will heal, Aragorn, and you will know," he promised.

* * *

The next day, the royal family of Gondor and various other members of the Court bid a fond farewell to the king and prince of Greenwood, their small party of five elves, and the Lord of the Glittering Caves.

Aragorn and Thranduil had exchanged their farewells, and the man now turned his attention to the dwarf, grasping his shoulders before helping him on to his horse.

"Thank you, Aragorn," the dwarf said graciously. "I can claim to be a rider now, but I am not too proud to admit I need a leg-up," he declared with an air of nonchalance. "Pride is for those who wish to land on their behinds because they are foolish enough to try mounting on their own when they cannot." He raised his voice to make sure Legolas heard his next words: "And pride is for those who refuse to be given treatment even though they need it!"

Legolas did indeed hear them, as did his father and everyone else, but they hid their mirth for the sake of the elf prince. He finished whispering something to Eldarion and gave Arwen a final kiss before he turned around and glared at Gimli, muttering a most unprincely comment, although his eyes were merry.

"I will make sure he lets his wounds be treated," Gimli said conspiratorially to Aragorn. "I will sit on him if I have to."

The king chuckled in amusement. "Just not on his chest, Gimli," he warned, but his eyes reflected his gratitude. "And you be well, too, my friend. Let it not be too long before the next visit."

"If the invitation comes with a generous helping of Southfarthing leaf, that will be all the motive I need," the dwarf jested. "Farewell for now, Aragorn. The Caves await a visit from the King of Gondor too, and he will always be welcome."

"Let us be on our way, Dwarf, before you commence on one of your twelve-league-long tales," Legolas complained in mock impatience. He whispered something to the Rohan horse, and it bolted forward suddenly, startling the dwarf, who let out a decidedly colorful oath. The horse began a slow walk towards the gates of the seventh level and would not stop despite the annoyed commands of its rider. Stifling more laughter, the rest of the party followed slowly, except for the elf prince, who was still dismounted. A young and fiery stallion from the stables of the White City – a gift from the king of Gondor – waited impatiently behind him as he turned to Aragorn with a warm smile on his face.

"Keep well,_ mellon nin,_" Legolas reminded the king, gripping his shoulders.

Aragorn forced a smile from his lips and returned the gesture. He noted that the elf looked much more at ease than he had the previous night, and a small ray of hope pierced the dark clouds in his heart.

"Ride safely, my friend," was all he could bring himself to say, not trusting himself to speak more in a steady tone.

The sun was shining brightly over the City as the little group rode off, reflecting off the golden hair of the Greenwood's royals and blessing the riders with pleasant weather. The king and queen stood watching the retreating backs of the riders, cheered a little by the sunshine and the spot of colour that seemed to have returned to Legolas' face.

As soon as the group was out of sight, Eldarion abruptly moved in front of his parents and stood with his legs apart, arms folded, looking at them with a serious expression. The eyes of the king and queen widened in amused and puzzled surprise, and for a fleeting moment, Aragorn wondered if his son had learnt the stance from him.

"Eldarion? Is something the matter, _ion nin_?" the king queried.

"I am doing my duty, watching over both of you," the boy replied in all earnestness, his eyes and firm chin reflecting his determination. "I am trying to decide what I need to do first."

His parents glanced at each other in bewilderment before turning back to him.

"What do you mean, darling?" Arwen asked.

"Legolas said I must look after you," he replied. "He told me to before he left. Especially you, Father."

Aragorn narrowed his eyes. "And why is that?"

"Because," the little prince answered in exasperation, as if his father had just asked for an answer everyone should know. "You are a great king, but you take care of everyone else except yourself, that is what he said."

A small smile came to Aragorn's lips. _It is just like the elf to say that_. He knelt in front of his son and looked at him lovingly.

"And pray tell, Eldarion Telcontar, why have _you_ been assigned the duty of looking after me?" he teased.

"Do you not know, Father?" the child's eyes widened in surprise. "He said it is because _he_ will not always be around to do it."

Arwen looked in alarm as the dark clouds in her husband's heart cut off all light and the blood drained from his face.


	37. Elrond's Daughter

**_Note to reviewers_**:

_**Soar, Brina, DarkStarofMirkwood, eliza61** (so, how many laptop owners did you harass?), **Evergreene, leralonde, Kelsey Estel, Ainu Laire, Elf771, AM** (okay, no cruel and unusual punishment), **lindahoyland, Slayer3** and **SmilingDragonGirl** (I think the tissue industry must love you two), **deana, viggomaniac** (keep comforting Aragorn, and the tissue industry says thank you, too), **Ali64, Shaan Lien** (you speak of making you cry when I wept all four times I re-read Nasan?), **Ithil-valon** (thank you for staying with me, for better or worse, lol), **lembas7** (let's see if any of your suggestions are observed by Aragorn or Legolas…). _

_**Gilraen Aclamense**: Nice to have you here, though it's near the end._

_I'm sorry – I still cannot respond to many of your questions. _:–) _The outcome of the story will unfold itself in these **final 5 chapters**_.

* * *

CHAPTER 37: ELROND'S DAUGHTER

"Please finish your lunch, Eldarion," Arwen coaxed as her son attempted to get up yet another time from the picnic mat to chase after squirrels. "I know you are excited that your father will be home today, but it may be much later in the afternoon. He will not appear yet no matter how many times you ask the guards."

Nearly two months after Legolas and his party left for their home in the Greenwood, Faramir and Arwen had found themselves waving farewell to the king of Gondor, who had to journey North to preside over important court proceedings and procure land for a new office of the King's representative – affairs which would keep Aragorn away for three weeks.

A downcast Eldarion had tried very hard to hide his unhappiness over the absence of his father over the coming weeks, but his disappointment had been obvious nonetheless.

"When you are older, you will be able to ride with the King's company," Faramir had said consolingly, and the little prince had put on a brave face every day for three weeks.

Now, the king was due to return, and no matter how much Eldarion wished to do as his mother told, it was difficult to keep still when he knew his father might ride into the City at any time.

The queen had decided on a picnic lunch in the gardens with Eowyn and her children, so that the prince would have some space to vent off his restlessness. But she was beginning to wonder if it had been a mistake when the little prince could hardly sit still to finish even one sandwich.

"The squirrels need my sandwich more than I do, _nana_!" he argued, hoping the excuse would work. Eowyn chuckled while the queen kept her composure and her smile.

"Well, in that case, they might want this too," she said sweetly, placing a blueberry tart next to his plate, "for when they finish the sandwich. They cannot go without dessert now, can they?"

Eldarion looked undecided for a moment, but the sight of his favourite dessert was too tempting, and he proceeded to finish his sandwich, keeping an eye on his tart the entire time. The two ladies and Eowyn's older daughter suppressed their laughter at the success of Arwen's ploy. The children finished their lunch and were allowed to move around more freely, while their mothers looked on with amused faces.

"He misses his father," Eowyn observed.

"It is hard for him when Aragorn has to be away, but he has to learn to bear it," said the Queen.

"As do Floréan and Boromir, when their father has to be absent," Eowyn agreed, looking at her daughter, who had inherited her father's gentleness, and her three-year-old son, who had not only been named after Faramir's departed brother, but who already seemed to resemble him in character as well. "If Lord Elessar returns today as expected, Faramir will leave for Dol Amroth in a day or two."

"Ah, that is the fate of our young ones, Eowyn," Arwen remarked, smiling ruefully. "But they will learn patience that way. Eldarion, in particular, will have to become accustomed to the life of a ruler, for such responsibility will be his one day."

"And speaking of responsibility, I had better keep a closer eye on Boromir – he seems to think that squirrels are toys to be hugged to death!" she exclaimed laughingly, and rose quickly to join the children.

"Well, everyone seems in a merry mood!" came a voice behind Arwen, and she turned to see the Steward walking towards her. He waved to his wife and children and accepted a goblet of berry juice from the Queen before sitting down.

"How is Eldarion?" Faramir enquired. "His tutors have been hard-pressed to keep his attention for two mornings, I have been told – since Elessar's rider brought the message of his return."

"I am not surprised," Arwen said, laughing. "He has much to learn, but he is still a child who finds it hard to quell his excitement. It is even harder when Legolas is absent as well, and he has been away from the City for close to three months now. Eldarion has missed them both sorely."

"He is not the only one who misses Legolas," Faramir mused. "I think Elessar had hoped for the elf prince's company on his journey."

"I am certain of that, Faramir," Arwen concurred. "I think those two make each other feel younger when they travel together!"

"I would not mind such a companion then," Faramir remarked with a grin. "Yet, even without Legolas, this journey north should have been good for Elessar, for he had seemed too restless the months before that." He paused in recollection. "He had not been distracted from his duties as king and governor, but I knew he was brooding over something in his quieter moments. He hid it well from the rest of the City… but I saw it."

The amused smile on Arwen's face turned into a wistful one. "Indeed, he has been troubled, Faramir; you are an observant Steward and a good friend."

The Queen and Steward kept a comfortable silence for a while, watching Eowyn and the children and enjoying their laughter. Several guards stood a distance away, discreetly watchful over the whole group.

"Has he not spoken to you about it?" Arwen enquired suddenly of the Steward, startling him a little.

"About the matter troubling him? No, my Lady," Faramir replied, shaking his head, "but I would be much relieved if I could learn of it, and if there is something that requires my attention…"

"This is something neither of us is able to resolve for him, Faramir," Arwen said, and she told the Steward about Aragorn's qualms over the possible loss of his dearest friend, which she had learnt of the day after the elves had left. Faramir listened attentively, feeling surprised and not a little saddened himself at the news.

"There is yet no certainty that Legolas will sail for the West," Arwen stated when she had finished. "But Aragorn is trying to prepare himself for that event."

"It does not seem that he is succeeding very well," Faramir remarked.

"No, Faramir, and to speak truly – I fear for him," said the Queen. "I was grieved myself when I heard of it, for Legolas has been a much loved friend, as close as family, but it will be all the more bitter for Aragorn. I do not know what he would do – or how long it will take him to accept it should Legolas really leave now."

Faramir kept a thoughtful silence as he pondered the elf's possible departure from Middle-earth. His own friendship with Legolas had grown as well during the past decade, and the elf's absence would be missed by many. But his greatest concern was for his king, for he knew the closeness between him and his elven companion.

For a long time, he had wondered how two different races of beings could have developed such a deep commitment to each other – he saw it in his King and Queen, and between Aragorn and Legolas. To this day, he could not fully fathom the reasons for that unbreakable bond between Man and Elf.

Arwen saw the pensive, questioning look on his face and waited, watching Eowyn and the children walk towards the little pond where the young ones began to feed the ducks instead of squirrels.

When the Steward remained silent, she prompted: "Is there something you wish to ask me, Faramir?"

The Steward started at her query, and grinned sheepishly. "Your eyes see much, My Lady," he remarked. "And they see truly, for I do indeed muse over a matter about which I have little understanding."

At Arwen's prompting, he voiced his thoughts.

"I know now King Thranduil's puzzlement, for the same question is in my mind," he said. "I do not fully understand this friendship between Elessar and Legolas, just as I find it hard to understand how Legolas and Gimli could be such good companions."

Arwen smiled her slow, wise smile. "Perhaps if we had been through what they did, Faramir, we would understand," she replied. "Those companions have looked death in the eye many times together, in the direst of situations, and counted on one another to evade its stroke. There is a bond of trust and devotion between them that others find hard to fathom."

"Yes… I too have been through much conflict, and I can feel such trust in those men who have fought by my side," Faramir said slowly. "But… it is harder to understand why Elessar continues to seek the company of an elf in this world of Men." He fidgeted a little, fully aware that the queen herself was of the race of elves, though he would not mention it.

"Ah, I see the true source of your query," Arwen smiled in understanding, making Faramir cast his eyes down in embarrassment.

"Forgive me, my Lady, if my inquiry is out of place…"

"Worry not, Faramir, it is a fair question," Arwen assured him. "I only hope I can answer it to your satisfaction."

She paused to compose her thoughts before continuing, finding a rapt listener in the Steward.

"I have not the wisdom of the Istari, Faramir, but I come from the world of elves, and I have now lived long enough in the dominion of Men to see both sides with my own eyes.

"Everyone knows that Aragorn grew from infancy to manhood among elves, yet, sadly, few can appreciate how powerfully his mind is moved by elven thought, and how his own blood pulses with all that is loved by elves and natural to them. It should not be any wonder that he yearns for elven companionship even now. He misses it, needs it, and will always do so.

"He seeks the passion of elven emotions: their easy laughter and quick anger, how they can show both quiet gentleness and fierce hate. He appreciates their devotion towards preserving all that is naturally beautiful, and admires their own unconscious grace and fairness." Arwen made the statement without any arrogance, fully aware of her own origins.

"He respects their pride and is amused by their obstinacy. He is in awe of how they will unyieldingly uphold an oath to secrecy – yet fail miserably at weaving untruths to protect that same secret."

Faramir listened to her words in fascination as elves were portrayed for him with greater insight than he had ever been shown before.

"Estel sees much of this in Legolas, so it is no surprise to me that he seeks his company," the queen continued. "He would find it in many other elves as well, but there is one other thing Legolas offers that other elves would not: the willingness to spend time with an _adan _and understand his human ways – behavior that is as strange to them even as elven manners may surprise you.

"Believe me, Faramir, not many elves possess that kind of patience and open acceptance of the _Edain_ as Legolas does," she said with a smile. "And for that, I will ever be grateful to him."

"But you are an elf too, my Lady," Faramir said, "you possess the same traits."

"Aye, Faramir, my acceptance of Estel as one of the race of Man is obviously beyond question – but remember that Estel and Legolas have been together through many intense moments of which I was not a part; their bond is something different from what Estel and I share," she said honestly. "Also, I do not seek the same…" she paused and knitted her brows as she sought a suitable phrase, smiling as she did so: "…the same wild freedom that those two are used to."

Her choice of words brought a small smile to the lips of the Steward as well; he understood what it was that Aragorn and Legolas enjoyed: the delirious joy of being in open spaces and the thrill of facing the challenges of the wilds.

"Aragorn is an elf among Men, and a Man among elves. Besides me, Legolas is the only one who understands that and provides a way for Estel to savor it without discomfort or guilt. On his part, Legolas has found in Estel one of the _Edain _who both accepts and shares his elven tendencies.

"Those two, Faramir, are different beings, as Firstborn were meant to be different from the Followers – yet they share much. They see no need to explain anything to each other, nor do they apologise for the ways in which they are different. They know and accept who the other is, and that is enough for them. Do you now wonder at the bond between them?"

The Steward shook his head slowly.

"No longer, my Lady," Faramir smiled, "and I must say that the bond between Legolas and Gimli puzzles me less now as well. I feel privileged to witness friendships that I doubt the world will see again, for the time of the elves is fast ending, and the fair folk will all sail, leaving only Men to hold dominion, and dwarves and hobbits to live in scattered places and quiet solitude. For Elessar's sake, I hope Legolas will not sail yet."

"That too is my fervent hope, Faramir, more than I can say," Arwen agreed sadly. "But it is his decision – and his right."

Faramir nodded in solemn agreement. "I thank you for helping me see much, my Lady, not least your own wisdom and insight, which should itself bear testimony to the marvelous good that comes of a close union between people of different races. Not for naught were you born the daughter of Lord Elrond, my Lady, and Gondor is indeed gifted with your presence," he finished.

Standing and bowing deeply to his Queen, he walked over to his wife and spoke briefly to her and the children before returning in the direction of the Citadel, leaving an elleth in quiet, wistful reflection.

Arwen sighed. Having had to articulate the relationship between Aragorn and Legolas had made her face a painful truth that she had not wished to dwell on before this moment. The children's laughter and the peace of the gardens soothed her little as she pondered the consequences of Legolas' departure.

If Legolas left Middle-earth now, she too would miss him greatly, for he was her closest link to her elven past. Her brothers came too seldom from Imladris to visit, and no other elves would reside here but Legolas and his Greenwood kin. Gone would be her haven in Ithilien, and the only place that Eldarion could go to learn elven ways. Gone would be the songs and grace of the Eldar from Gondor, and the White City would be robbed of the beauty of the fair folk if Legolas came never again to visit. What a loss it would be to a world from which the elves would surely depart, but she had not thought it might be this soon…

Besides Aragorn, Legolas was her one anchor in the world of Men, and suddenly, his impending departure filled her with fear and immense sorrow – she who had given up her immortality and who drew strength from the company of the elves of the Greenwood for the years she had left in Middle-earth. Forgetting where she was, she let tears escape her eyes and flow unchecked down her fair cheeks as she contemplated life without the elf prince's presence in and near the Gondorian city.

"My Lady?" a voice called gently, startling the queen from her sorrowed thoughts.

Arwen turned to see an elf standing a respectful distance away. For a fleeting moment, she thought it might have been the very elf she had been thinking about, for he too had long golden hair – but it was Lanwil. She quickly dabbed the tears from her cheeks with a dainty kerchief and smiled at the elf.

"_Mae govannen_, Lanwil," she greeted him, rising gracefully from where she sat. "When did you return from the Greenwood? Is the prince with you?" She looked expectantly behind him, hoping to see the familiar face.

"Nay, my Lady, he is not here," Lanwil replied. "It is in fact on his account that I have come, for I bring a message from him for Lord Elessar."

Arwen stared at him, not knowing whether she wished to hear what he had to say.


	38. The News

**_Note to reviewers_**:

_**Lembas7, Slayer3, Ithil-valon** (your tummy may be relieved at the start of this chapter), **Deana, AM, SmilingDragonGirl** ( Chesire Cat, lol! I, too, wonder how we survived without elves), **Ainu Laire** (Egad, you thwapped Leoglas?), **DarkStarOfMirkwood, nautika** (I could almost hear your desperate shrieking), **Snow-Glory, viggomaniac, Ali64, Kelsey Estel, Tinnuial** and **lindahoyland**: _

_Thank you, all, for your appreciation of the last chapter. I didn't know how readers would receive it, for I was writing about a relationship that we hold dear – but you have given me great relief. I also forgot to acknowledge those of you who gave wonderful feedback on the conversation between Legolas and Thranduil in Chapter 35 – it is so true that a father would want to keep his child safe – no matter how old they are. _:–)

_**Lost- Elf, Ciryaquen, **and** Sarah**:Great to have you on board, even if it is the last leg. _

_I STILL cannot answer many of your questions about you-know-what, but if you have been having sleepless nights about the message – well, read on…_

_

* * *

_

CHAPTER 38: THE NEWS

_Estel my friend,_

_I hope this message finds you well. By the time you read this, I shall be on my way to South Ithilien, where I am anxious to return. There are tasks to complete that were disrupted by those unfortunate events, on which I would rather not dwell. _

_Yet, even in haste, I wish to send you word as I promised. Be at peace, my friend, for I am well, and the wounds that were raw and tender before I left the City are now but light scars. No longer does the face of the Man fill my waking dreams either, due in no small part to the healing from your hands, for which I am grateful. Even now, in moments of quiet, I feel your spirit within me, mellon nin, and am comforted by it. _

_The road is long, and I must be on my way, but my step is now lighter because of you. Watch over yourself, Estel, and heed the counsel of the Evenstar, for even a king must rest. _

_Pray give my love to Arwen and Eldarion. _

_You remain ever in my thoughts. _

_Legolas _

* * *

"I hear you did well at archery today, _ion nin," _Aragorn said to Eldarion as the young prince came to see his father in the parlor before retiring to bed. The king and queen were warmed by the bright smile that lit their son's face at the king's praise.

"Yes, Father, I did! I remembered everything Legolas taught me," the child proclaimed spiritedly.

"He would be very proud of you if he knew," his father assured him.

The young prince frowned a little at those words. "But if he stays away much longer, he will not hear of it. When will we see him again?"

A light shadow flitted across Aragorn's face at the query, and he looked at Arwen, who arched her fine eyebrows to suggest that her husband provide the answer. Aragorn turned back to the child and held his shoulders.

"Son, do you remember the elf Lanwil coming here on the day I returned?" he asked.

"Yes, I saw him. I thought he was Legolas, but he was not!"

"No, but he did bring a message from Legolas, and it said that he was returning to South Ithilien to finish some important tasks," the king explained.

"But that was… um… a long time ago," the child argued.

"Almost three weeks, darling," his mother chimed in helpfully, an indulgent smile on her face. "Twenty days."

"Twenty? That is a lot of days!" Eldarion exclaimed with an uncharacteristic pout on his handsome face. "And then before that, there were also… many weeks and days."

_Four months now since he left the City_,Arwen said to herself. _That length of time is hard for a child who waits. _

"Perhaps he will come when he has completed his work," the king said comfortingly, half to himself.

"I hope so," Eldarion said, throwing his arms round his father's neck. "I miss him."

"So do we, _ion nin_," his father said, wrapping his arms around his child and breathing in his scent. "But think no more of it for tonight. Go to bed now and have pleasant dreams."

Releasing his hold on his father, the prince bid him good night and moved toward the waiting guard and nurse.

"I shall be along shortly with your story," Arwen told her son, who walked off happily with his two escorts trotting behind. When he had left, she turned to her husband. "He will want a long story tonight," she said, smiling. "I would not be surprised if I fell asleep in his room as well!"

"I shall not wake you if you do, _meleth nin, _my love," he said laughingly, caressing her cheek. His heart was full as he looked at his wife. "The little one tires you, does she not?"

Arwen raised her brows, amused. "She? Why do you think it is a girl?"

"Because that is what I wish for," he said simply, with a twinkle in his eyes.

"_Adar _would have been able to tell," Arwen said quietly, remembering her father who had had the gift of foresight.

"Yes, he would, if he were still here," Aragorn agreed softly and suddenly turned contemplative, thinking about his foster father as well.

Arwen took the hand that was on her cheek and kissed it, and for some moments, the two of them sat in quiet recollection of the time when the elf lord Elrond had been with them, before he left Middle-earth. After a while, Arwen noted the pensive, distant look in the king's eyes and asked quietly: "You fear that he will sail, do you not, my love?"

Aragorn gave her a puzzled look. "_Adar_? What do you mean? It has been nine years since – "

"It is not _Adar_ I speak of, Estel," she said gently, looking deeply into his eyes, holding his gaze and letting him see her love and understanding.

Sighing, Aragorn held her hands tightly and closed his eyes.

"Yes, I fear that," he admitted, his voice taking on a dejected tone. "The sea-longing is a torment beyond my comprehension and certainly beyond my aid to relieve. No Man or elf can ease that for him. If he chooses to leave… I will not ask him to stay, for I have not the right. I have compelled my lips not to say what is in my heart." Agony was evident in his voice as he added: "I do not wish for him to bear more pain for my sake."

Arwen smiled in understanding. "I am certain he knows that, Estel. But be it your wish or not, he has borne it this past decade to remain at your side," Arwen reminded him. "No other testimony do we need that the call of your heart has moved him more than the call of the sea. When I remember that, I feel that he will wait. He will not leave now."

A thin ray of hope pierced the gloom of Aragorn's heart at Arwen's words. "I cannot deny that it would bring me great joy if he chose to remain, Arwen, and our lives would be the richer for it," the king said. "But if he stays – even if it is for my sake – I wish for it to be what he truly desires."

"It is his desire, Estel, for he loves you."

"I pray your words are true, Arwen. Yet – he hides away in South Ithilien," he said in a puzzled tone, and the hope that had colored his voice moments ago was now tinged with disappointment. "I see no reason why he could not come to the City himself before he returned to those woods. What tasks could be so important there that he could not wait?"

Arwen recalled the look on Lanwil's face when she had asked him a similar question: the young elf had appeared most reluctant and ill at ease, and would only say that his prince did not wish to delay. She kept this observation from Aragorn, fearing that she had read overly much into what had transpired.

"You know how he feels about those woods, Estel," she said instead, seeking to soothe her husband. "Perhaps he felt that he had neglected them for too long."

"That seems likely," the king said, "but, other than the message he sent through Lanwil, we have had no word from him in almost four months now," Aragorn lamented. "I cannot discard this feeling that he has been holding something in secret from me."

Aragorn closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his fingers, unwilling to say more.

Seeing his anguish, Arwen spoke quickly. "Estel, whatever occupies his time now – you will soon know; he will not hide it long from you, you know that."

"But it is hard to fathom his mind when he keeps this silence, Arwen," the king contended, shaking his head. "What signs do I have as to his intentions?"

She thought for a moment before she spoke again.

"Perhaps he has already given you the signs, Estel," she ventured. "His message was quite clear: his wounds are healing well, and Sarambaq no longer haunts him as before. He wished for you to know that he is strong again, or he would not have sent Lanwil."

"Indeed, my heart was much lightened at the news, Arwen," Aragorn conceded. "Legolas did not deserve to suffer so."

"Then with the remnants of Mordor no longer a threat – I have little doubt that he will stay," the queen said hopefully, feeling the heaviness in her husband's heart and longing to lift his spirits. "He will not leave Middle-earth yet."

Doubt still lingered in the king's heart as he ran his fingers gently over his wife's cheek again, but his face relaxed into a soft smile. "Your faith comforts me, my Undòmiel, and I thank Eru that you are in my life," he said, wondering how he had been so fortunate to be blessed with the love of two of the fairest beings in Middle-earth.

The queen's concern was allayed at his smile and his words. "I will always be with you, Estel," she said lovingly, "and you need never doubt that." She rose from where she had been seated. "I must now see to Eldarion before he falls asleep. Will you be retiring soon?"

"No, I must first speak with Faramir," Aragorn said, sighing. "He returned to the City at dusk and sent word that he would see me tonight."

"Did you not ask him to stop by Pelargir on his return journey? Perhaps he will have news about the elves for you."

Aragorn nodded. "Yes, he was to view the rebuilding of the new homesteads on the river bank," he replied. "And he may indeed bring news of Legolas and the elves, for they often board the ferry at Pelargir to cross the river."

"Well, whatever questions you have will soon be answered then," Arwen said in a relieved tone. "I will take my leave, my love. Do not stay up too late." Giving the king a quick kiss and a smile, she turned and swept out of the parlor in a rustle of silk.

Left alone, Aragorn's thoughts drifted again to his elven friend and the Undying Lands that awaited all elves. Fleetingly, as he would do once in a long while, he felt the ache of not being one of the Firstborn who could sail there, to behold the beauty of Valinor. He thought again about the irony of being a descendant of Eärendil – the great mariner who now traversed the skies in his ship Vingilot – and not be able to sail West himself.

Yet, he would not dwell long on the fate of the mortal _Edain_ as some of his ancestors had – for it was with bitterness that they had attempted to reach the Undying Shores not destined for them, and by challenging the Valar, had earned their wrath and caused them to remove Valinor from the realm of this world. No, Aragorn had long made peace with the mortality of Men, for immortality would be but a doom if one had to bear endless years of pain. But, however he viewed immortality himself, the king of Gondor was most careful never to broach the subject in the presence of the Evenstar, for he did not wish to remind her of the sacrifice she had made in parting with her father for eternity, in order to wed him and remain with him in Middle-earth.

Hardly had these humbling thoughts crossed his mind before he heard footsteps outside the parlor, and a moment later, the tall, suave Steward of Gondor walked in and bowed slightly. He looked a little tired, and his voice sounded weary as he greeted the king.

"Faramir," Aragorn said, "welcome back. Have you dined?"

"Yes, my Lord, thank you," the Steward replied, seating himself opposite his king. "I needed to freshen up before I came to meet with you. It was a rather arduous journey, for we rode hard to reach the City before nightfall."

The king smiled appreciatively. "I shall not keep you long then. Tell me briefly how the business at Dol Amroth went, and we will talk further tomorrow."

"The meeting proceeded very amicably," the Steward replied. "Imrahil will ride here before long with a delegation from the Southern Lands, and I dare say that Gondor will soon have more trading partners."

The king grew more pleased in the next few minutes as they discussed Gondor's brightening future, and decided that they would study the proposals Faramir had brought back with him the following day. But despite the success of his venture, a look of discomfiture remained on Faramir's face, and it did not go unnoticed by Aragorn.

"Does something trouble you, Faramir?" the king queried, an expectant look on his face.

The Steward shifted a little in his chair and cleared his throat, but did not answer for a few moments. He looked at Aragorn who patiently awaited his response, and knew that the man before him would not dismiss him for the night before obtaining a particular piece of information from him. There would be no use in delaying it.

_It is time, _Faramir thought.

He clasped his hands nervously and said: "I stopped at Pelargir as you asked, Elessar." He looked about to continue, but he paused and cleared his throat again.

Aragorn's brows rose. "The homesteads – ?"

"That work is going well," Faramir assured him hurriedly. "The Mayor has said that the townsfolk are being taken of, and the funds you sent are sufficient for the time being." The king nodded at the news, and parted his lips to pose a question when Faramir's next words cut him off: "But that is not the only news I bring."

Aragorn drew in a deep breath.

"What else then?" the king asked, beginning to feel a little uneasy himself. At Faramir's obvious hesitation, he prompted: "Do you have news of Legolas?"

"No … he was in the woods across the river, busy with a task there," he replied, noting the look of disappointment that flashed across the king's face. "This was told to me by some of his kin whom I met in Pelargir."

"In the town?" Aragorn asked. "What were they doing there? Why were they not with their prince?"

"They came for supplies, Elessar, I was told that they sometimes come across to Pelargir to purchase their needs from the townsfolk." He said this as if it was a difficult subject to speak about, puzzling the king.

"That does not sound unusual," the king remarked. "Why do you seem distraught by it?"

"Elessar… I was told that the supplies are not for Legolas in the woods. They are for another group of elves working on a different job," Faramir said, obviously uncomfortable. "They began the work in the town, but moved it across the river to Ithilien. It was for that reason that it has been given little notice, even though they have been working on it for months now."

The Steward clearly had more to say, but the words seemed to catch at his throat, refusing to come forth.

"What is it, Faramir?" the king pressed, a little exasperated. "What are the elves working on outside the woods?"

"Their work is far from the woods, my Lord. It is… on the river."

Aragorn drew in another deep breath, and his heart clenched as tightly as the hands that gripped the arms of his chair.

The river?

"Aye, my Lord, the river," Faramir affirmed, and it was only then that Aragorn realized that he had spoken the question aloud.

At Faramir's words, the king shook his head slowly as he heard a suspicion whisper itself in his mind. He sat staring at his Steward – frozen and numb, knowing what was to come, but not willing to hear it being uttered.

_Nay, nay. Say not what I do not wish to hear… _he began to plead silently.

"Elessar – I wish I did not have to be the one to bring you this news, but this role has fallen to me, and – though I loathe to do so – I must tell you," Faramir stated ruefully, almost choking on his words.

_No, it cannot be. Do not say it … _

But the king's pleas fell unheeded, cruelly swept away by the wind of despair that carried in the Steward's news. Faramir's face was a mask of sympathy as he reluctantly delivered the blow:

"The elves who are working on the river are building a ship, my Lord," he said in a voice thick with compassion. "It is for their prince Legolas – and it is almost finished."


	39. Strongbow

_**Deana, Ali64** (can I tell you that the ship is for Thranduil and not Legolas? Were you peeking at Chap 40? What will it say?), **Eliza61, Leralonde** (Power? Yes, I suppose one could look at it that way, lol), **AM** (not unless the elves lied…), **SmilingDragonGirl **(glad to touch your heart, anytime), **Brina** (yes it got thru, thanks), **Ainu Laire, Kelsey Estel, Lost-Elf, Lembas7, Nautika, lindahoyland, Tinnuial** (yes, and you have to stay till the end, too), **viggomaniac** (Aragorn-Legolas: nothing beats that, but I'm biased, lol), **Slayer3, Kirsten, Lindele,** and **DarkStarofMirkwood.**_

_**Lembas7**: Aragorn slothful? lol. Be kind. He is the king, and Faramir was away, so he could not have upped and gone on a whim. :–) _

_Thank you, all, for your reviews and responses. I am so glad the characters seem to be alive for you, for your reactions have ranged from wanting to soothe them, to cursing them. Have mercy: I love those two. _:–)

_And I still cannot answer your questions; I cannot tell you whether this will have an AU ending. Be patient a little while longer… _

* * *

CHAPTER 39: STRONGBOW

The King of Gondor stood in solitude on the balcony outside his private chambers, bathed in the dim moonlight, tall as a pillar and as grim as death. The guards below looked upon him in fear and awe this night, for he was as one of the great kings of old, forever enshrined in lifeless stone at the Argonath.

So stern and cold was his countenance that he seemed indeed to be carved out of rock but for the dark hair that lifted with each breath of wind and the steely eyes that roved the night sky. The grey eyes then lowered to slowly scan the countryside outside the city, as if the moon and stars would somehow show him what he was seeking.

But what he sought was out of sight, many leagues from the City.

What was in sight were the Pelennor Fields shrouded in the eerie glow of _Ithil's _luminescence, reminding Aragorn of the Shadow men from the Paths of the Dead that had followed him onto the ships of the Black Fleet of Umbar. But now… the only ghosts were those of memories, and they hovered above the Fields, where thousands had battled and given their lives for the freedom of Gondor almost eleven years ago. There, he and Legolas had also fought side by side amidst grim armies with death as their rallying cry – to make sure that Gondor lived to see the prophesied return of her king.

Aragorn could see the fair face of Legolas in battle – hard with resolve, dangerous with anger, and pale with fear each time an orc sought to cut down the future king and prove the prophecy wrong. Time after time, the elf prince would end the orc's life first, so that Elessar might live to be crowned. The dwarf, his Ranger kin, the Rohirrim of Eomer – so many risked and gave life and limb so that Gondor could receive her rightful ruler.

Those memories haunted Aragorn now.

So many memories. And so many of them shared with the Elf prince.

_I thought there would be many more memories to make together, Legolas_, he thought sadly_. Happier ones, glorious ones._

In one month, Minas Tirith would be celebrating its tenth year of freedom from the threat of Sauron, and the tenth year of the reign of King Elessar Telcontar. The residents of the City were already making preparations for festivities. Delegations would be attending, heralding opportunities for the next decade of thriving trade for Gondor. The kingdom of Elessar was poised to witness a growth in stature and knowledge and wealth, and he would need even more greatly the wisdom of aides and the support of loyal friends.

But all that would mean little to Aragorn if the friend that mattered most to him sailed.

And the possibility of it hung over the king like a dark cloud: a harbinger of joy for the one who would leave, and bitter sorrow for the one who would remain.

_I thought we would see Gondor flourish together, Legolas. I thought I would have you at my side through my struggles. I thought I would have your companionship till I was old and grey and at the end of my life. _

_I did not think I would be so wrong, so soon._

The king swallowed the emotions welling up in his throat.

_How do I say farewell to you now, my friend? _

Angrily brushing a tear off his cheek, Aragorn let his eyes travel further, to rest on the moonlight glinting off the waters of the Anduin in the distance. He imagined those waters flowing south and westwards, towards the Sea, and his thoughts drifted with the current – slowly and languidly – yet all too swiftly reaching the dock where a ship, almost completed, lay anchored, awaiting the presence of an elf prince who would sail it away from Middle-earth… away from a king standing in cold silence on a balcony in the White City, away from a friend who loved him too much to beg him to stay.

Aragorn felt that his heart would shatter with the pain, and fought to hold on to the strength left within him.

Soft footsteps approaching from behind him broke the silence. "The night is nearly past, my love, and you have not slept," said the Queen of Gondor as she touched his arm.

The response from her husband was frighteningly calm.

"Sleep will not be my companion tonight," he said without emotion. "I wait for the rising of the sun." He paused without removing his eyes from the river. "Yet it will not be the sun that shows me the truth."

"Nay, it will not be," Arwen agreed. "Only he can, and that will not be long hence."

"Yet not fast enough," Aragorn said. "Would that night were day, so that I could have departed sooner."

"Dawn will be soon enough," his wife countered. "He has not left. And even now my heart finds it hard to believe that he will sail. I know I cannot dismiss the possibility, but I do not yet bind myself to it."

"He has built a ship, Arwen," the King retorted in a voice that sounded dead, save for the slight tremor in it. "Can there be a clearer sign?"

"Estel – "

"I mean to keep my resolve: I will not ask him to deny his desire to sail any longer. It is his right to seek Valinor. But I find myself unprepared to let go," Aragorn confessed in a tortured voice. "Aaaah, Arwen…"

Aragorn's face was still turned toward the night, but Arwen felt his agony and wept for him. She could only wrap her arms around her husband, resting her face against his back.

"I do not know how to bear the pain of parting with him," Aragorn said, and his voice took on a bitter tone. "But that is nothing in the face of the greater torment: I cannot understand why he has built his ship in secret. I only know that by doing so, he has left me in a place darker than night."

In the silence that followed, all was still, save their breaths misting in the cold night air. The quiet was finally broken by the rustle of Arwen's robe as she moved to face her husband.

"How certain is Faramir of what is going on?" she queried, looking into his haunted eyes. The Steward had already left when Aragorn retired to their private chambers and broke the news to her.

"He is certain of what the elves told him, and the elves do not lie, not even to protect a secret," Aragorn replied dully, reminding Arwen of the line she had used to describe elves to Faramir three weeks ago. She was next surprised when a small chuckle escaped the king's throat despite his turmoil. "They would say nothing at first, but he gave them grief till they revealed enough to make him leave. But that is all they would say; they would volunteer nothing more."

"Then I am not convinced that all is as it appears," Arwen insisted. "There is still much of this tale that has yet to be told."

Aragorn brushed a hand through his hair, unwittingly teasing a tender smile from Arwen at the sight of that unchangeable habit. "I know not what to think anymore, Arwen," the king said. "But I intend to find out at the end of my ride this day. Now that Faramir has returned, I can leave the City with a lighter heart… if light my heart can be after this."

The king shifted his position to place an arm around his wife and hold her close in the chilly morning. After being assured that she was warm enough, he breathed a sigh that carried volumes of unspoken sorrow and confusion in it before he spoke again.

"I have you and Eldarion, _meleth_, and another young one waiting to be born. My life has been blessed many times over," Aragorn said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "And yet… my heart aches immeasurably at the thought of losing someone who is not even of my blood. He has been my friend and companion, but it hurts as if – as if I were losing one of you," came the honest confession, softly made. "I feel as if part of me is being wrenched out."

"Does that puzzle you, Estel?" Arwen asked, smiling. "It is no wonder to me. He is your Strongbow, and I have always seen it, though perhaps you did not."

Aragorn started at her words, and a moment of silence passed as he tried to comprehend them. Failing to do so, he asked: "My what?"

The elven eyes of the queen sparkled under knitted brows, even in the dying moonlight. "Have you forgotten your history, Estel?" she teased. "Or did _Adar _neglect to tell you the tale of Túrin Turambar and Beleg Strongbow?"

Feeling both curious and sheepish, Aragorn shook his head. "I may have been told it, I may even have read it, but I cannot recall." His voice turned tender. "I must confess that since I met you, the tale of Beren and Lúthien was all that filled my mind, for after all, it is from that line that we are descended. But I would dearly like to hear the tale of which you speak."

"Well, it is a tragic tale that would be long in narrating, but I will tell you enough now for my purpose," Arwen said, and Aragorn began to listen intently, forgetting awhile the source of his consternation that lay many leagues down the Anduin.

"Túrin was much like you, my love," Arwen began, piquing his interest. "He and his mother, the Lady of Dor-lớmin, were of the _Edain _who dwelt in Hithlum, and were oppressed by the Easterlings. The Lady Morwen feared for the life of her son – much as your mother did, Estel – and so she sent her son to Doriath, seeking the protection of Thingol Greymantle."

"Aye, I remember the tales of Doriath," Aragorn said, a wistful note entering his voice. "The Girdle of Melian kept that elven kingdom hidden and safe from harm for long years."

Arwen nodded. "Yes, it was a place of great splendor," she said, "and Thingol was a worthy king. He welcomed Túrin into his fold with open arms and gave him honor. It was Thingol's marchwarden, Beleg Cúthalion – the Strongbow – who first brought the Man to him, and Túrin soon became the companion-in-arms of Beleg.

"Thereafter, Beleg grew to love the man greatly, though he was of the _Edain_." She tilted her head then and smiled at Aragorn. "In the same way that Legolas does you."

Aragorn nodded slowly, beginning to see the parallels.

"But there was another elf who was jealous of Túrin's position in the court of Thingol," Arwen continued, "and during an unfortunate event, Túrin caused the death of that elf. He was not to blame, but he both feared the wrath of Thingol and looked upon his fate with bitterness. So he fled Doriath and became an outlaw."

Aragorn looked at his wife and nodded. "I begin to recollect the tale now," he said, "how Túrin lived in the wilds for many a year, becoming both feared and hunted."

"Aye, Estel, he did. And do you remember what happened after?" At the hesitation from the king, Arwen went on: "Thingol feared for Túrin, and Beleg took it upon himself to seek the Man in the wilds and bring him home. But when he was found, Túrin refused to return to Doriath – "

"So Beleg left his home and king, did he not, and joined his friend in the wilds?" Aragorn asked as that part of the tale came back to mind. "And Túrin ceased his plundering – ?"

"Aye, save against the servants of the Dark Lord Morgoth," Arwen affirmed. "Beleg returned not to his home, yielding to his desire to stay and watch over the friend he loved above all others. He remained ever by Túrin's side, and used his great skills to aid him and his band of houseless companions. In doing so, he became homeless himself."

Aragorn turned his eyes back to the river and spoke so quietly it was almost a whisper: "The Strongbow. He never left his friend."

"No, Estel, he never did," Arwen confirmed. "He gave up everything to be with the friend he loved."

Aragorn fell silent again, and Arwen knew he was thinking about how Legolas had made a similar move for him.

"He has done no less in moving to Ithilien at your request, despite what Thranduil feels," Arwen voiced the thought for him, and the king swung round to look at her again, in awe of how much she understood him.

"Three weeks ago, I was filled with trepidation myself at the thought of his leaving," Arwen admitted. "Imladris is lost to us, Estel, but as long as Legolas remains here, we will still have an elven refuge. I thought about that, and I began to fear... I wondered if he would go…" Her voice shook a little, and Aragorn held her closer.

"But now," she went on, her eyes shining, "when I think of the reason he came to Ithilien, when I see how much he loves you and what he has been willing to do for you, I see Túrin and Beleg alive in the Fourth Age," she declared, "and I cannot see how he could leave you now!"

The king gazed at his wife in wonder and admiration, and he drew her into a tight embrace and wept into her hair, finding no words to utter. Arwen remained in his arms for long moments, letting him release the emotions he had held inside. But then she spoke again, for there was more that she wished to say.

"Estel… do you remember how the tale ended?" she asked gently.

The king drew back and gazed at her again. When his face registered his struggle, Arwen prompted: "Túrin was captured and shackled by orcs, but Beleg tracked them down and found him. He shot Túrin's foes and used his sword to cut the Man's bonds. But alas! Evil was written on the sword that Beleg carried that day, for it slipped and pricked Túrin's foot – "

"Túrin thought it was his foe come to assail him," Aragorn said, remembering. "It was dark… he could not see… and he grappled with Beleg… " His voice trailed off as he recalled the tragic end: "He grasped the sword… and slew his friend."

"Aye, Estel, Beleg was slain unwittingly by Túrin himself," Arwen said, her own voice hushed. "He was the truest of friends, most loyal of companions, and he died at the hand of him whom he most loved."

Aragorn could say nothing, subdued by the reminder of that tragedy, but Arwen had one more point to make.

"Darkness blinded one friend against the other that fateful night," Arwen remarked sadly. "For, when nothing is clear, a man – or an elf – might smite even the heart that loves him the greatest."

Lifting her eyes to look deeply into the king's, she said meaningfully: "I pray it will not be so in this Age."

For the first time that night, the king's face softened, and the ghost of a smile played on his lips. As he planted a soft kiss on the lips of his wife, his ears caught the sweet chirp of the day's first starling. He lifted his head and cast his eyes east.

"The sun rises," he said softly, and turned back to see the first glow of dawn in the bright eyes of Arwen Undòmiel.

"Yes, Estel, the sun rises," she said, smiling. "Go."

* * *

_The tale of Túrin Turambar and Beleg Strongbow isfound in J.R.R. Tolkien's The Silmarillion._

_Next chapter up in three days, I hope._

_I would liketo acknowledge every single one of the readers / reviewers who have been following this story – whether it has been from the start or halfway through, it doesn't matter; you're all appreciated. So – if you have been reading this and never 'visited' – I hope you will drop in during these final chapters – just once – so I have a chance to say a proper 'hi' and 'bye' to you._ :–)


	40. Greenleaf

**_Note to reviewers_**:

_**Deana, Snow-Glory, DarkStarOfMirkwood, slayer3, AM, lindahoyland, Brina **(I will be sorry when it ends, too…)**, SmilingDragonGirl, Lindele, Elf771, Leralonde** (I guess you've joined the support-the-tissue-industry club), **Tinnuial, Kelsey Estel** (sent you email to answer your question, but answer also at bottom), **Ainu Laire** and **Ali64** (Is the ship for Thranduil? Read through this chapter to find out…), **partheon** (Yes, the parting is like death for both sides; the question is: will it happen here? Have not read Woolf, but I should, and thank you for the wonderful compliments), **Kirsten** (O… will it end that way? O… do you want it to end that way?), **lembas7** (Lol, I still disagree with you re Aragorn; he did not go earlier because Legolas' letter gave him no cause for alarm, but I will always remember your adjective for him: slothful, hee hee...), **Eliza61** (Loved your remark about the woman behind the man), **viggomaniac** (Wow… it's testimony to how much this story is on your mind, thank you so much; but now I want to know what I looked like in your dream), **Ithil-Valon** (for Chap 38: I love that line too.)_

_**BitterLee, AngelS, **and** Ezra-Asgard**: Lovely to hear from you, and thank you for your wonderfully kind words. _

_Thank you, ALL, for making me so good about Chap 39. The tale of Turin and Beleg is my favorite in The Silmarillion, and I'd waited to get it in this story since Chap 1; I just love the parallels between those friendships. **Shaan Lien** alerted me to another – to be mentioned in another story, perhaps. To all who have not read or plan to re-read The Silmarillion because of this chapter: I am truly glad to have played a small part in (re)introducing you to that beautiful tale. _

* * *

CHAP 40: GREENLEAF

Aragorn remembered little of his ride that day. He and his small escort (of the fastest riders among his guard, for he would slow down for none) set off with the rising of the sun, and did not halt but for brief periods of rest and nourishment.

He only remembered the miles flowing swiftly by underfoot as Rallias sailed over the earth, and images of tree and rock and grass and hillock blended into one long stream of myriad colors – for his eyes were fixed only on a target he could not yet see. He would have ridden on through the following night as well, but his guards were weary, so he allowed the company a few hours' rest as they camped on the banks of the Anduin several leagues from Pelargir.

It was thus that they reached the town early the next day – without fanfare or ceremony for the King and his company, as none knew they were coming. Aragorn felt relieved, for his business was across the river. But the Mayor came to know of the King's presence and hurriedly prepared refreshments for him. The Mayor was a good man, so Aragorn accepted the food graciously even if he hardly savored it. He was in haste, and a bitter taste was on his tongue.

"I will see you at the celebrations next month, my Lord," the Mayor said in parting when Aragorn rose to leave the table.

The king paused in his act at that declaration, for it reminded him of the role he held as ruler of the country.

_I do not yet know if it will be as joyful for me as it is for my realm. But life in Gondor has to go on, no matter what turmoil assails my own_, he realised

"I look forward to it," he forced himself to reply courteously, and departed as quickly as he could without offending his host.

An hour later found him crossing the Anduin on the ferry that bore the elves to and from South Ithilien. Only Rallias had been brought on board, for the ferry was not large enough to bring all the other horses across.

_We will need a bigger ferry to service the crossings when Legolas opens up more of the woods for settlement, _he decided – then checked himself. _If he stays long enough to do so… _

Aragorn sighed. He was weary in body and spirit, but his senses were sharp, and he was glad for the river wind that cooled him in the heat of his turmoil. As his dark hair billowed gently in the breeze and the water lapping lazily against the side of the ferry, Aragorn's mind traveled back to a time when there had been no wind: he had been sailing up this river in the ships of the Black Fleet, in a desperate attempt to reach the Pelennor Fields and succor Gondor in her defence against the attack from Mordor. Deep had been his anxiety then, as had been that of the Rangers and the sons of Elrond, who had joined them on the Quest since Rohan. Rightly were they dismayed, for they had forty leagues to go till they reached the landings outside Minas Tirith, but they were sailing against the stream, and no wind blew to aid their journey, so that the progress of the fleet was slow.

The only one on those ships who had not been depressed by the weather was the elf prince Legolas, Aragorn recalled.

_The heart of Gimli was as heavy as the steel chains of the ship's anchors and the oars that labored against the current, and the dwarf was close to despair. But Legolas suddenly laughed. _

"_Up with your beard, Durin's son!" the elf said. "For thus is it spoken: Oft hope is born, when all is forlorn." _

_What hope the elf saw from afar, none could tell – and he would not reveal it. When night came, they were further dismayed, for they saw Minas Tirith burning red in the dark sky._

_But at midnight, hope was indeed born anew, and a fresh wind came from the Sea, so that long before day broke, the ships could unfurl their sails, and their speed grew till the foam frothed white at the prows. It was thus that they reached the Fields of the Pelennor at the third hour of the morning, and in that glad hour, they turned the tides of the battle against the enemies of Gondor._

The memory made Aragorn smile despite the weight in his heart, and it filled him with a strange sense of pride in his elven friend.

_I am Estel, the Hope of Men. Yet it was you who had enough hope for the whole fleet, mellon nin, _he thought fondly. _Truly a Greenleaf you are, Legolas: the first herald of each spring, a promise of all that is fresh and new and alive. You lifted my spirits when no one else could – and you still can. _

Then Aragorn's smile left him.

_But my reign may be long; and I know not if the Greenleaf will continue to see me through my Winters and help me greet each Spring. _

A sound disrupted his melancholic thoughts, and he heard that it was the call of a bird. They must be nearing land: South Ithilien, Aragorn realised. Squinting, his sharp grey eyes could just perceive the faint outline of the far bank.

He lifted his head then to look at the white clouds in the blue skies, and he gasped. For, before his eyes, he seemed to see the clouds swirl and change to form a shape – that which had first wrought so much agony in the elf: a sea-gull. And suddenly the sound he had heard was that of its crying, its plaintive voice wailing, calling, beckoning to the Firstborn:

_Come home, come home. _

Then it seemed to Aragorn that he saw once more the elf prince on a ship of the Black Fleet, seeing gulls for the first time in his life: a wonder they were to him and a trouble to his heart.

_He stood still, forgetting war in Middle-earth, for their wailing voices spoke to him of the Sea. He had never seen it, but deep in the hearts of his kindred lay the Sea-longing, which was perilous to stir. _

_And now it had been stirred. No peace would he have again under beech or elm, the Lady of the Golden Wood had said._

_Would the Strongbow prevail?_

The ferry lurched on a strong wave, and so deep in thought was Aragorn that he suddenly stumbled backward and he was jolted out of his ponderings. Two hands on his back steadied him, and a voice enquired politely: "My Lord?"

The king looked back at two of his guards and shook his head, assuring them that he was well. And when he looked at the sky again – the gull in the clouds was gone.

Knitting his brows, his eyes returned to the expanse of the river.

_Ai, Legolas, _he lamented. _What will I find on the other side? _

As if in answer, a shape came into view – a shape that Aragorn would have given anything not to see. It lay on the water some distance away from where the ferry was to moor, but close enough for the king's keen eyes to define.

There it was: the unmistakable form of a vessel. Grey was the timber from which it was made, and solemn was the cruel message it sent into the heart of the king.

_Come home, come home_, wailed the voice of the gull in his mind.

And a promise to the Firstborn seemed to come from the grey ship: _I will bear you hence. _

Aragorn felt his heart sink as the ferry closed the distance to the pier, and as soon as it was possible for him to leap on the landing, he did. He waited only long enough for Rallias to disembark; then, with quick instructions for his escort to wait at the pier, he mounted his horse and rode off in the direction of the vessel.

Within five minutes, he was approaching the ship and the elves working busily on deck. The elves had seen him from far off, as elves would, and two now leapt lithely off the ship to await his arrival.

"_Mae govannen_, Lord Elessar," they said in greeting when he reached and dismounted. Their expressions were a curious mixture of surprise, dismay and guilt.

Holding in the hundred questions he was bursting to pour forth, he returned their greeting and ran his eyes over the vessel. Now that he was seeing it for himself, the sense of impending loss hit him like a ton of rocks, muting him. But at the same time, a bitter feeling of betrayal stabbed at his chest till he felt tears sting his eyes.

He swallowed and made himself speak.

"Your prince?" he questioned shortly.

"He is not here, my Lord," one of the elves replied.

"I can see that," Aragorn said evenly. "Where is he?"

The two elves looked at each other, clearly hesitant to respond.

"Where – is – he?" the king repeated emphatically.

"I – we have instructions not to tell anyone, my Lord."

Aragorn was incredulous. "Whose instructions?"

"The prince's."

Aragorn felt his bewilderment and his ire rising, and he was on the verge of issuing a stern command for them to tell him what he wanted to know. But these were not his subjects, he remembered in time, and bit his tongue to check himself.

Several other elves – including Hamille and Lanwil – had descended from the vessel, and they walked towards him as well, calling out to him and holding their hands to their hearts in the elven greeting. Their slender forms left hardly any imprint on the soft sand of the river bank as they moved, and their long hair – dark and brown and gold – flew like silken threads spun by the fingers of the wind.

_Such breathtaking beauty, such grace_, Aragorn could not help noting. _What a loss it will be to Middle-earth_.

When they were all gathered before him, his eyes swept over the fair beings – all loyal to their prince, all keeping his secret – and he suddenly felt his ire ebb and an overwhelming wave of sadness wash over him. There was a catch in his voice as he spoke.

"I am not your king, my friends, and I have no right of command over you," he said quietly to the group, startling them with the depth of sorrow and defeat in his tone. "And no claim do I have over your prince save that of a friendship I hold closer to my heart than any other, and which I thought he held dear as well."

He paused to look directly at Hamille and Lanwil. "I do not understand what is going on, or what I may have done to earn this distance from him, but I am no longer content to hear about him from the mouths of others," he said. "I have ridden with little rest this past day for the sole purpose of meeting with him, so – _saes_, please – tell me where he is, for I shall not move from this spot till I find out, or he comes."

The elves began to murmur among themselves, and the looks on their faces softened in sympathy. Many of them turned away, and as they did so, it seemed to Aragorn that on some of those faces, he caught – to his bewilderment and disheartenment – smiles.

He narrowed his eyes. _Smiles? _A cold anger began to course through him again: were they actually laughing cruelly at his distress?

Only Hamille showed no reaction, but cast his eyes to the sandy ground of the river bank as if he were trying to make a decision. But finally, he looked up and gave the command for the elves to return to their work. Then, as the others returned to the ship, he turned back to Aragorn.

"He is at a glade a two-hour walk from here," he stated, gentle eyes filled with compassion – and another emotion Aragorn could not read. "We were not supposed to reveal this, but perhaps it is time."

Aragorn released a sigh. _It certainly is, _he agreed silently. Aloud, he said: "_Hannon le_".

"I will take you there, my Lord," Hamille offered, "but I think it is best your escort remain here for now."

Aragorn nodded. He would leave Rallias with the guards. "What is he doing there?"

"That… is not for me to say, my Lord," Hamille replied, obviously keeping something hidden. "But of one thing I can assure you: my prince treasures your friendship no less deeply, and he would be grieved if he knew you thought otherwise."

Instead of offending him, Hamille's gentle chastisement actually brought a measure of relief to Aragorn, but he still needed answers.

"I do not think otherwise, my good Hamille," Aragorn said sincerely. "I have said to you before: there has been no nobler friend than your prince, and I have had none truer. But I must confess that I am troubled, for I do not understand what is going on. Why is he secreted away at the glade? Is that where he has been all this while?"

The elf hesitated, not quite sure how to answer the question. "Aye, he is there most of the time – but I should not be the one to tell you why," he finally said. "He comes here sometimes to see to the progress of the ship."

The ship.

Aragorn's attention was brought back to the vessel he hated to see. Yet he had to face it.

"Wait," he said to Hamille, taking a deep breath. "Before we proceed, may I first view this – this ship?"

Hamille sighed as if in defeat and raised his hand in an invitation for Aragorn to precede him.

The man hardened his heart and approached the vessel. Slowly, he walked the length of the ship in grim silence, admiring its sleekness and hating its significance. It was the most beautiful vessel he had ever seen, and the most loathsome.

_It is for their prince Legolas, _Faramir had said.

And it was indeed close to completion.

"When – ?" Aragorn tried to ask, but the question caught in his throat.

"There are still some finishing touches to be made, but it will be ready to sail in a week, perhaps two," Hamille remarked nonchalantly, as if he were telling Aragorn when dinner would be served.

The king's own heart plummeted, and his mouth went dry.

_A week? _he lamented. _A week! Valar, I am not ready. Ai, Legolas…_

Then Arwen's words came back to him: _There is still much of this tale that has yet to be told. _

Aragorn stood straighter at that reminder, and he ran his eyes over the vessel from end to end, stubbornly looking for some indication – some sign that this ship might tell some other story, anything but the tale of Legolas' departure. Anything.

Then his eyes alighted on something on the prow of the vessel that made him draw in his breath sharply. Emblazoned into the wood at the side of the ship was a symbol that dashed his hopes: the emblem of the Mirkwood monarchy.

The King of Gondor felt crushed. _So it is true_, he thought.

But wait.

He swung around to face Hamille. "This ship – " he began. "It is for your king, is it not? That is his emblem. Is it for your king?"

Hamille looked at him strangely. "No, my Lord," he said patiently. "Look." And he pointed to the prow.

Aragorn peered more closely at the emblem. Narrowing his eyes, he saw now what he had missed before, and his knees went weak.

At the bottom of the monarch's emblem, etched clearly and proudly into the wood, was the personal insignia of Prince Legolas: a single green leaf.

"The prince plans to sail as soon as it is ready," came the voice of Hamille, each word dripping like poison into Aragorn's ear. "He has been waiting to fulfill this desire for a long time."

Aragorn turned around to look at Hamille again, but now his mouth was set in a grim line, and his face had turned as grey as the timber of the ship.

"Take me to him," he said.

* * *

**__**

**__**

**_Note: _**_Aragorn's recollections of the journey on the Black Fleet are adapted from Tolkien's Return of the King._

_**Ali64**: I had written this before you asked, hence my amusement and question: did you peek? _:–)_ I could not say more then. But I can say it now: I'm so sorry; no, the ship is not for Thranduil. _

_**NEXT**: _

_The final chapter + one bonus chapter – most likely to be posted together. _

_Not sure how many days from now – it may be a week. I will try not to let it take too long, though I am loath for the end to arrive. Sigh… _

_Thank you to those who have finally said 'hi' – I'm glad I can acknowledge you at last. _


	41. The Elf and the Ranger

**_Note to reviewers_**:

_I accept all your wet tissues **(Deana, Slayer3, SmilingDragonGirl)**, your glares and insane thwaps ouch (**Lindele, DarkStarOfMirkwood, Ainu Laire, Elf771**)._

_I sympathise with your sad sighs (**Ithil-valon, Lost-Elf, partheon/Kristen, Brina, Kirsten**), nail-biting dread (**AM, Macie**), disappointment (**lembas7, Ali64**) and disbelief (**lindahoyland, viggomaniac **I will read that story as soon as I can get to it). _

_Thank you all very much for reading and reviewing, and – as always – for your kind words. I will respond in greater length after the end of the story. _

_For now: this is it. The final chapters. _

_All your questions and guesses are addressed here._

_**Warning**: _

_This is a long chapter, and there will be an epilogue. _

_Tissues may be required._

_So you may not want to read this at work. _:–)

* * *

CHAPTER 41: THE ELF AND THE RANGER

_In a glade in a forest, there sat an elf fair;_

_Summer sky was in his eyes, and gold in his hair._

_The peace on his face, so wondrous to behold, _

_Whispered the joy of giving yet untold. _

_In love and devotion he had wrought this dream:_

_A haven of blossom, a pool of light steam._

_Long he sighed and weary, yet light of heart was he,_

_For ending was his toil for the Lord of the White Tree._

----------0000000000----------

The elf prince rested his head against the trunk of a tree, his eyes closed. He was clad only in his leggings, his upper body glistening faintly with sweat and his silky hair free and loose in the breeze. He was humming softly in his melodious tenor, his thoughts deeply focused on the surroundings, when he heard the rustling of leaves above and the sweet singing of his kin from afar, calling to him, telling him:

_He comes, he comes, for he will wait no longer. _

* * *

The elves had obviously spent a lot of time and care in clearing a way through the woods of South Ithilien, Aragorn observed, so that the path he and Hamille trod on now was pleasant and free of obstacles that might cause stubbed toes and painful stumbles, yet they had not vexed the trees, which still stood proud and at ease on either side of the path. 

This was the way to the glade that Hamille had spoken of, the elf confirmed, and Prince Legolas had painstakingly scouted the area before deciding on the safest and easiest course for the path to follow.

"Safe?" Aragorn queried. He looked at the peaceful woods around him – there did not seem much reason for concern.

"It has to be safe enough for those who journey here," Hamille explained, "for some will bear precious burdens."

Aragorn's eyebrows rose in query, and Hamille's own eyes looked curiously at the pack the king had brought with him. But the elf neither asked Aragorn about it, nor offered any explanation of what he himself had just said, and they continued their walk in – what was for Aragorn – maddening silence. After a while, however, Hamille broke the hush with a song. He sang it in a rich voice that reverberated through the forest so that the trees seemed to thrum in response.

And somehow, deep within his heart, Aragorn knew that he was singing to tell his prince that they were approaching.

A tumult of emotions raged within him as he neared his destination, and he wondered what he would say to his friend when they met. Which of his hundred questions would he ask first? And would the elf prince be angry that his hideaway was breached? Aragorn pursed his lips in resolve. Whatever he would encounter could not be worse than the agony of not knowing.

Deep in contemplation, Aragorn blindly followed Hamille's lead, going around a sharp bend in the path and past tall bushes.

And he stepped into a dream.

Stopping dead in his stride, he felt his breath taken away, and the pack he had been carrying dropped from his hand onto the soft grass. He gaped in awe at the vision before his disbelieving eyes.

A shaft of sunlight pierced through the foliage above and shone like a spotlight on a place that surely must have been created by the hands of the Ainur. Bathed in a golden glow, the glade looked as if its beauty had once been shyly hidden beneath layers of roughness, but magical fingers had coaxed that beauty out of hiding and made it shine with a soft radiance that was at once ethereal and homely.

In the centre of this enchanted place was a clear pool from which a faint, misty steam slowly wafted. Lilies of the valley, lilac, honeysuckle and lavender – just beginning to bloom – lined the pool and the fine marble steps that led gently into the water, their careful arrangement all around the glade testimony to the efforts of the loving hands that had planted and nurtured them. Butterflies teased the fragrant blossoms on the ground with gentle flitting touches, and danced with those that cascaded gently from the trees in white, yellow and pink showers.

Delightful birdsong filled the air, in harmony with the soft, lulling gurgle of ripples and the soft sighing of trees. And weaving itself around these sounds there came, too, the silvery voice of an elf that Aragorn would know even in his dreams.

The king felt that he could lose himself in this haven of quiet color and sound that had been designed to both lift and soothe a weary, jaded soul.

His eyes next rested on two wooden benches sitting near a tall oak tree; they were carved with intricate leaf designs bespeaking the care of Elven craftsmen. Then, catching a glimpse of white among the branches of the oak, Aragorn raised his eyes. And gasped.

An impressive _talan _of white wood, with a roof and low walls no less intricately designed than the benches, nestled securely within the lower branches of the strong oak. A flight of winding stairs led up to it, and ivy twined around the beams holding up the roof. On one of the walls – and Aragorn had to squint to be certain of what he saw – was the White Tree of Gondor, and above it, unmistakably, his crown, both carved with meticulous care.

Unless he was mistaken, this glade, this place of breathtaking beauty, had been made for him.

The King of Gondor felt tears rise unbidden to his eyes as he realized the time and loving care that must have been devoted to creating it. No one needed to tell him by whom it had been wrought: a true, unselfish friend, whom he had once hurt with his careless words – and who would now leave him.

Legolas stepped out from behind the oak and smiled softly at the look of amazement that had not left the face of the king.

"Aragorn," he said simply to the man, who stood rooted to the spot, mute with astonishment.

Hamille then approached his prince and whispered in his ear. Aragorn saw the elf shrug his slender shoulders in resignation and he guessed what Hamille must have been saying: _I am sorry I could no longer deter his coming here._

Understanding danced in Legolas' eyes at Hamille's discomfiture, and he shook his head slowly. "_Ta naa luume,_" he said reassuringly. "It is time." And he dismissed the elf with his thanks.

Hamille gave a low, melodious whistle, and to Aragorn's further astonishment, four other elves appeared - seemingly from nowhere. Two had jumped down from the oak where they had been hidden, and two emerged from behind nearby shrubs. The traces of leaves and grass on their hands and in their hair told Aragorn that they had been working, but now they bowed slightly to their prince and left the glade with Hamille, leaving the two friends alone.

When the elves had left, Legolas stood unmoving, his arms at his sides, looking unflinchingly at Aragorn with a shadow of a smile on his lips.

The King stared back at the slender elven physique and ivory skin, and the strands of golden hair flowing back from the fair, peaceful countenance. This face, these hands, this spirit – they had been with him through many struggles, physical and emotional, and his heart felt rent asunder at the thought that soon, too soon, he would no longer be able to see them or feel them any more.

What was he supposed to say to this friend of his whom he held dearer than life, but who was about to be lost to him?

He felt his feet move to close the distance between them in slow, measured steps. How he moved them, he did not know, and when he was finally face to face with the Elf, he did not know what to say.

_Don't leave_, he wanted to utter.

"Your elves told me you were here," were the words that his lips formed.

Legolas nodded. "It is good to see you, Estel," he said calmly.

Aragorn was still hesitant about what to say. He sifted through the questions tumbling over each other to be asked and settled on what seemed the most pertinent for the moment.

"What is this?" he asked in a hushed, uncertain voice, looking around.

A sheepish smile came to Legolas' face.

"The Royal Bath," he announced in a gentle but satisfied tone, turning and sweeping one hand towards the pool and blossoms surrounding it. "I thought Arwen and Eldarion might enjoy it, and that you would find some respite from your duties here. It was meant to be a surprise gift."

The Royal Bath?

"It is a pool fed by a hot spring," the elf continued, turning in the direction of the source. "I discovered it many months ago, and we have been working to prepare it for you and your family – for when you wish to be away from the City."

Aragorn staggered a little.

"You – you spent all this time…these months…" Aragorn began. His voice failed him and he could not finish.

Legolas turned back to him and smiled. "It was not that hard," he said modestly. "I had good craftsmen."

Aragorn's eyes swept admiringly over the glade.

"But you designed it."

A short pause. A soft "yes" came in response.

The man was mute with wonder and appreciation as he looked around again. How could he have deserved all this? Feeling humbled, he swallowed before breathing his heartfelt gratitude in a shaky voice: "I have no words to tell you how much this glade means to me, Legolas. _Hannon le, mellon nin, hannon le._"

Legolas nodded slightly and smiled, clearly pleased that his friend seemed to like what he had done.

Suddenly, Aragorn's thoughts swung back to the ship and what he had come to ask, and the awed exultation he had felt quickly dissolved into a feeling of melancholy laced with pain and a hint of hurt. His voice grew quiet and plaintive as he stated:

"But I would rather have the giver than the gift."

The smile slowly disappeared from the elf's face. "What?" he asked.

"Why the gift, Legolas?"

Legolas looked at him quizzically. "Why?" he echoed the question.

"Yes, why?" Aragorn felt his voice grow a little stronger as he felt his emotions come loose.

Legolas looked perplexed. "I just wanted to give you and your family a gift."

After a moment's hesitation, Aragorn made himself utter the question.

"A farewell gift?" There, he had said it, and a trace of bitterness and sorrow entered his voice. "Is it a farewell gift, Legolas?"

The elf looked even more mystified, his eyes wide. "What?"

"Do you mean for it to be a farewell gift? Something to remember you by after you leave?" Aragorn felt his voice rising a little higher.

"After I leave?" The tone of incomprehension in the elf's voice grew stronger.

Aragorn felt his composure slipping away. "Yes, Legolas, after you leave. After you sail!" His voice was hard with agony, and his wide eyes reflected his pain.

Legolas appeared to be trying to digest the words and not succeeding. He responded slowly, measuring his words. "No, Aragorn – this gift is meant for your family to enjoy now." He narrowed his eyes, genuinely puzzled, as he worded his question carefully. "How could you conceive of delighting in a hot pool after you… after you pass on?"

It was Aragorn's turn to be befuddled. He clenched his fists as he spat out his confusion in a single word: "What!"

Legolas raised his palms in exasperation. "You asked if this was meant to be a farewell gift for after I sail. How can that be? You know when I will sail, Aragorn. After you… after your death. I have told you this. Why do you make me speak of it again?"

"Your ship – you built – Legolas, the ship – it's ready!" Aragorn sputtered a little incoherently. "You leave in a week, the elves told me. You leave – " he stopped and hissed in frustration. "When were you going to tell me, Legolas? Were you going to tell me at all? How could – "

Aragorn stopped, drawing a breath and choking on it. He was quickly losing control of what he was saying, and he knew that if he tried to utter one more word, he would break down. So he clenched his fists tighter and looked down, shaking with the effort to keep his emotions in check.

Legolas was just as shaken, stunned into silence. But as he pondered on the words his friend had just spat out, a glimmer of understanding finally dawned. He stepped towards Aragorn and grasped the King's arms firmly with his own moist hands.

"Aragorn, look at me," he urged softly, tilting his face to try and meet the King's downcast eyes. "Look at me," he demanded more firmly, giving the arms a small shake.

Aragorn lifted his head and faced the Elf squarely, lips set in a straight line, grey eyes full of anguish and misted over. Gentle blue eyes looked steadily into his own.

"That ship was built for several reasons, Estel – but none of them was to take me to Valinor," Legolas stated clearly, making sure Aragorn understood him before he continued.

"It was built to sail us to the Bay of Belfalas and along the shores of Middle-earth, should we wish to visit them," he explained. "It is also meant to bear your family up and down the Anduin, to this place; I thought it would be less tiring than riding here, for Arwen and Eldarion, and other children you will have. I thought, too, that you yourself might enjoy sailing it, for it would be a shame if a descendant of Eärendil – greatest Mariner of all the ages – did not have a ship of his own."

Aragorn stared at his friend, shocked beyond speech. But it was just as well that he could not yet speak, for Legolas was not finished.

"The ship, Estel – the ship is also meant to be the first of what I hope to be your own fleet," the elf declared. "Your kingdom runs for a great part of the Anduin, and Gondor will engage in much trade in the coming years for which you will need ships. We cannot always be riding on the vessels of the Black Fleet of Umbar, can we?"

The elf grinned cheekily as he said this, but then his voice softened as he looked at his friend affectionately. "This Bath and that ship, Estel – these were surprise gifts for the tenth anniversary of your reign – just three weeks away, is it not? The work had begun about seven months ago, but it was disrupted by the… trouble… with Sarambaq. That is why I had to return here quickly to finish them, and why the elves were told not to reveal anything to anyone. Even the ferry-man and the men of Dol Amroth had my confidence."

"The men of Dol Amroth – ?"

"Yes, the sea-faring craftsmen of Imrahil lent us their skill when we began," Legolas affirmed with a smile. "We have built many boats for the swift Forest River, but none that could traverse the wider, deeper parts of the Anduin or beyond the Bay. Imrahil offered to have the ship built at the Bay itself, but I… I wanted to have a hand in it."

_For the day will come when I shall have to use what skills I learn now to build my own ship, _the elf acknowledged silently, not wishing to remind Aragorn of that.

"We were glad for their help," he continued aloud. "They left just a week ago, but they will be ready with their services again should you decide to build more ships later."

_A week ago. That is why Faramir missed them, _Aragorn thought. _And Imrahil said nothing either…_

Legolas sensed Aragorn's thoughts. "Many prefer to know beforehand what is to be served on the table, but those who labor like to keep their secret," he said, echoing a remark Gandalf had once made. "Wonder makes the revelation and discovery sweeter."

Then he looked at the king apologetically.

"But I did not think it would cause you so much anguish, my friend," he said sincerely. "_Amin hiraetha,_ Estel. Forgive me."

Aragorn shook his head, stunned at the depth of the elf's love for him. He planned all this… he did all this… He was not the one who should be asking for forgiveness.

For long moments, they stood. Then Aragorn found his voice. "No, Legolas, do not ask forgiveness of me, for it is mine to beg," he croaked. "But… I am still confused. Your insignia – I saw it on the ship. It is yours – "

"Yes, it is there," the elf affirmed, his voice full of patience. "But did you not see the White Tree on the other side of the prow? It is only half-done, I grant. I plan to have it finished in two or three days." Another sheepish smile appeared on his face. "I – well – I thought this first ship would be ours to sail together."

Aragorn stared wordlessly at him again.

"Do you not want to share the ship with me?" the elf asked slowly, his head cocked.

"No," the king shook his head, surprising his friend. "I mean – yes! Yes, I mean yes. But – no, that is not what – " He was perplexing the elf even further. "You're leaving – a week – they said – " he stammered.

His words confirmed Legolas' guess at his earlier confusion. The elf sighed.

"Aye, I did voice that intent," he said calmly. "When the ship was finished, I would leave. I would set sail for Minas Tirith, for the landings at Harlond. And I would present it to you there. I have desired to do that for a long time."

"Sail it to Minas Tirith," Aragorn said stupidly as a myriad of emotions assaulted him: disbelief, relief, joy. But mostly disbelief at the moment.

"Yes," Legolas reiterated, and waited.

Coming out of his stupor, Aragorn raised his hands slowly to clasp the elf's forearms. "You mean it, Legolas? You're not leaving for the West?"

"No, not yet, not while you still live and breathe, my friend," came the firm reply. "And as long as you still want me around."

"If I still want – ? Legolas, you should know – how could you – but I have no right to ask – "

And then the reins that had been holding back Aragorn's emotions snapped. He let out a deep breath and bowed his head. Finally, the stoic King of Gondor released the pent-up emotions and fears he had held in check for months, in quiet sobs that he would never let anyone else witness, save Arwen. Legolas hesitated but a moment before he moved to embrace his friend, holding him without speaking, letting the face of the King wet his shoulder. Aragorn clung to him without thought of embarrassment, allowing his tears of relief to wash away his grief, till the sobs subsided. The birds seemed to sing more softly and the forest hushed as the two friends held each other in comfortable silence. Finally, Aragorn pulled back far enough to look into the face of his friend, finding smiling, gentle blue eyes returning his gaze.

"Cứthalion," he whispered. "Strongbow. Arwen was right."

Legolas lifted his eyebrows in bafflement. "Cứthalion?"

"You should know your history," Aragorn rejoined with a tired grin, letting the name and meaning of his words sink into Legolas' mind as the blue eyes looked into his searchingly.

"I am not he."

"No, but you have his heart."

"Not his nobility."

"Different Age, different circumstances, but every bit his nobility, every bit his loyalty," Aragorn insisted. "I pray I never smite you again, even in ignorance."

"Again?" Legolas queried, surprised. "You never – "

"Not as Túrin did Beleg, not with a sword, but by foolish, careless words."

"Estel, I think not of them any longer, I have told you – "

"They are still lessons I must remember."

"I lay no claim to perfection either."

"No, but it was not you who hurt me."

Legolas had no immediate reply for that, so he kept quiet.

Aragorn sighed as he considered his next words, debating whether to say them, and whether he would compose them well enough. As Legolas waited patiently, blue eyes fixed on his own, Aragorn was reminded of the consequences of holding back words that should have been expressed, and decided to speak.

"Legolas," he began and faltered. The Elf waited, and he began again. "I know of the torment you bear in resisting the call of the Sea, yet I selfishly hoped against hope that you would not leave. If you were to go… there would be a vacant spot in my heart that nothing else could fill, no matter how long I live. You have remained here for me, my friend…" Aragorn swallowed and made himself go on, "but this is your life… and if it is at all your desire to leave now, I will not hold you to your word. I love you too much to make you bear – "

"Estel, I have never even thought of leaving you since the day I decided I would stay," Legolas interrupted quietly. "The Valar may decide otherwise that we cannot foresee, but till then, I hold to my purpose. There is no turning back."

"But your father – he wanted you to – ?"

Legolas was taken aback at first: how did Aragorn know – ? He grinned as he guessed at the answer, but how the king had come to know was of no matter now. He was not leaving.

"_Adar _asked me to consider it when we were still in the City, and I said yes to comfort him. But I spoke with him again when we were back in the Greenwood, and he accepts my decision. I never meant to leave, Aragorn, not while you and Gimli still live. I could not bear it."

Huge waves of relief washed over Aragorn, but he wished for Legolas to be sure. "The sea-longing will torture you, _mellon nin. _Are you certain…?"

Legolas looked at his friend without speaking for a while, thinking about how to respond truthfully.

"There will be times when it will hurt, Estel, that I do not deny," he conceded. "But – the pain of leaving you and the people I love here – knowing you are still around – would be a far greater agony. I have many, many ages of the world to pass in Valinor, but only one brief – too brief – span of time with you. How could I go before that time was up?"

"It will be harder for you than for us when the time does come, Legolas," came the quiet reminder. "Gimli and I will each pass into long sleep… while you will live on to mourn."

"I am aware of that," said the elf sadly. "But it will be worth it." He gripped Aragorn's shoulders and said firmly: "Aragorn, I will embrace whatever joy there is to share with you as long as you live, I will tread your paths with you, even when you stumble, and when troubles assail you – you will not be alone. Then, when the end comes, my friend, I will be there to bid you farewell, and even if the pain should shatter my heart, I will have no regrets – for I would have spent those years exactly as I wished to: as your friend and at your side."

Eyes shining with gratitude, Aragorn suddenly kissed his friend on his brow and both cheeks, noting his scent of tree and leaf and blossom.

"Under different circumstances, Aragorn, that might appear strange," Legolas quipped, looking at his friend with an amused smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

Aragorn did not smile but looked back steadily at the blue eyes of his beloved friend. "Under _any_ circumstances, if something needs to be done and said, it should be, _mellon nin_," he replied calmly. "Lest we leave it for too late."

The words washed over both friends like the warm ripples of the pool they stood by, as man and elf pondered the unspoken memories that had prompted the statement. Their hearts were soothed by soft unvoiced promises of a deep friendship that would continue to cleanse whatever waters they might unwittingly turn murky along the way.

Aragorn's eyes and voice were steady as he spoke again: "I may not say this often enough, but I say it now, clearly and without doubt: till the end of my days, I will always need you, Strongbow. If I am fool enough to forget this in the years to come, if I should act or utter words in carelessness, I pray you will remember this moment and forgive me."

With that, Aragorn rested his forehead on the elf's, letting a single tear trace its way down his face. Returning the gesture, Legolas responded in a voice rich with love and acceptance: "You will have no chance to forget it, Estel, for I will be with you."

And Aragorn's heart swelled with gratitude for the unconditional love of a faithful friend. For long moments, they remained without need for speech. Then Aragorn's glistening eyes suddenly widened as a thought entered his mind.

"Legolas…" he said, hesitating.

The elf cocked his head slightly. "Yes?"

There was a pause before Aragorn spoke again, his hand and eyes sweeping over the scene around them. "You have already done so much building this wondrous place for me and my family…" He was about to continue but stopped again, looking back at Legolas and adding in a firm tone, "of which you surely know you are a part." The elf smiled and nodded, waiting for Aragorn to continue.

"But I would beg one more thing of you, my friend, if you could manage it." The King's voice was almost apologetic.

"Anything that is within my power to grant, it is yours, this you know."

"Then find another spot, Legolas. A hidden one, as full of beauty and magic as this. And let that be ours. Yours and mine alone. Where we can go when our duties weigh us down too much, before they can make me forget who I am. A place of rest where you and I can be free enough to be nothing more than the Elf and the Ranger," Aragorn finished breathlessly, the excitement in his eyes making him look almost young again.

Legolas' mouth had dropped open at that unexpected request and stream of words issuing animatedly from the lips of the King of Gondor. In the surprised silence that stretched on, the elf's mind wandered to a place two hours away: a spot filled with the sound of nightingales and a fifteen-foot drop from the branch of an oak tree into a pool clear as glass.

And just as Aragorn was beginning to wonder if he had embarrassed himself with his request, the fair face of the elf prince broke into a smile that lit up the clearing, and he gave a soft, silvery laugh like the sound of bells, and of water trickling over stones in a gentle brook.

"I know of the perfect place, Ranger," he affirmed. His reply drew a sigh of relief from his friend, and Aragorn felt a thrill of anticipation run down his spine. "It shall be ready for you – for us – anytime you wish to go. But for now," he stood up and held his hand out toward the hot pool, "shall we try out the Royal Bath?" he asked, already moving towards the water.

The Ranger's youthful grin, absent for years, reappeared at once. "You read my mind, Elf!" he responded with genuine delight. But then he suddenly grabbed Legolas' arm and yanked the elf to a halt. "Wait!"

As the elf watched in curiosity, Aragorn picked up and opened the pack he had brought here – and fished out a bottle of wine. Legolas' eyes lit up in amusement; he knew at once that it was the bottle the man had mentioned the night he had first recovered from Sarambaq's poison. Aragorn looked at it for a moment before he spoke.

"We never opened this," he said quietly, looking up at Legolas. "I had wondered if I might be drinking it with you in parting…"

The elf shook his head and smiled. "Then it will have to return to the cellar and sit there aging for another hundred years or more."

"No, we have already waited too long," Aragorn said, his face breaking into a grin. "Is this a good time?"

Legolas' eyes twinkled with a thousand stars. "This is the perfect time, Ranger."

And the joyful laughter of the two friends reverberated among the trees of South Ithilien, like it would time and again throughout their years of their lives together in Arda.

* * *

_D__uring the long years of Elessar's reign, the royal family sailed to South Ithilien and visited the Royal Bath many times, enjoying a welcome respite from regal duties and court behavior, where King and Queen basked in quiet serenity and took pleasure in the union they had made possible through much sacrifice. They watched in proud delight as little princes and princesses came closer to the voice of Nature than they could anywhere else, learning to love the earth and gaining wisdom from the stories of elven guardians from Ithilien. _

_Elessar Telcontar built his fleet of ships, and they faithfully bore many a passenger up and down the Anduin. Each of those ships proudly displayed on its side the Star of Eärendil, an idea inspired by an elf prince who had built the Lord of the White Tree his first vessel. That first ship remained solely for the descendants of Eärendil – generations of them. For even when the children of Elessar, and their children, had grown tall and strong, the timbers of that vessel held fast – for such was the skill of the elves of the Greenwood who had fashioned it from the same timber they used for the boats traversing the swift Forest River in the days of Mirkwood's youth; and so deep was the love that had gone into the making of the ship – that it remained as steadfast and true as the elves did during the long years. _

_Throughout the length of the friendship between the King of Gondor and the Lord of Ithilien, whenever the King felt too weighted with care, when he needed a healing of spirit, and a quiet renewal of bonds with yet unsullied beauty of woods and water, he would seek his elf friend. Then, Elf and Ranger would visit the Hidden Glass Pool, ever protective of the one place that was theirs alone, where – for a day or two or three – the burdens, turmoils, and social demands of the outside world could not touch them, where age and designation did not dictate or restrain, where they could savor the simple pleasure of just being who they were. They jealously guarded the secret approach through the trees, enjoying the thrill the journey added to each visit, till the human king could no longer climb or move from tree to tree with the grace and agility of the elven prince. Then for the first time since his discovery, Legolas cleared just enough undergrowth on the ground for a way through to the pool, a path still unseen and unknown to all but the two friends and the elven guards of Ithilien, who never disclosed the location. _

_In no annals of the reign of King Elessar, nor the stories that passed from mouth to mouth after his passing, was there ever any mention of this cherished refuge. _


	42. Epilogue: A Bond for All Time

_This epilogue is dedicated to my dear friend, Steve._

* * *

**EPILOGUE: A BOND FOR ALL TIME**

_But when King Elessar gave up his life __Legolas followed at last the desire of his heart and sailed over Sea._

_(from the Appendices of Tolkien's Return of the King)_

* * *

In the year 1541 of the Shire Reckoning, 120 years after the first two members of the Fellowship of the Ring departed from Middle-earth and the Fourth Age of this world began, a grey ship sailed slowly and sadly down the Anduin River.

Except for the age of the vessel, it was exactly like another that had been made many years ago by loving elven hands, when King Eldarion of Gondor was but a child. The older ship had been born out of a deep love and the greatest friendship he had ever known, and it still held its proud place as the personal vessel of the newly crowned ruler, who would sail it along the Anduin to the Bay of Belfalas and a little beyond.

But this new grey ship would go much, much further, and it would sail only once, for it had been built to bear an elf prince and a dwarf – last of the Nine Walkers, last of the Fellowship of the Ring – on a final journey from Arda to the Undying Lands.

On board with the elf and dwarf was the elf king Thranduil, along with many of the Firstborn who would no longer grace the woods of the Greenwood, Ithilien and the lands of Men, now that their king and prince were finally sailing, now that the great and beloved King Elessar, Hope of his people, had passed from Middle-earth, ending an era of gentle nobility, humble greatness and quiet wisdom such as the world would witness never again.

Legolas looked fondly at his dwarf companion, still incredulous that someone who had once hated and been hated by elvenkind had, in the end, been willing to leave his beloved Glittering Caves and his dwarven kin to join an elf on his final journey. The elf prince was grateful for his presence, for someone who would understand the tumult of emotions within him, each trying to gain mastery over the others.

A multitude of seagulls sang the joyful fulfillment of a desire to sail across Sea, long suppressed in the elven heart of the prince; yet, weighing heavy upon that same heart was the memory of a friendship and a love so great that the joy would forever be tinged with bittersweet melancholy. It had been for the Lord of the White Tree that the elf had resolutely resisted the call of the Sea for 122 years, for the sake of one mortal with but one short lifetime in Arda, to gift him with the loyal companionship he needed and desired.

As the ship left the mouth of the Anduin and the shores of Middle-earth, the elf prince stood silent and alone on the deck, his slender body straight as a young tree, his long hair a river of golden silk flowing in the tides of the wind. He turned his face from the land of his birth and looked determinedly forward.

But in his mind's eye lingered still a vision of two friends who, in times of peace, had shared laughter and mirth; in times of war, had stood side by side; and in the failing of the sun, had walked in bitter rain – always together in spirit, always bound by love.

With his eyes closed, the elf could see once more the final farewell that had taken place in a quiet chamber in the Citadel of the King in the White City:

_A weak ray of sunshine entered quietly through a window and reverently touched two heads. _

_One lay on a pillow, its neatly combed grey-white hair crowning a noble face lined with the creases of ten thousand past cares and content with just as many joys, a face that was still stately and proud; and in the grey eyes were written words of wisdom that proclaimed: I have lived a full life; as I have lived, so shall I pass. The other was bent close to the first: it was as a golden halo framing a face that was ever youthful, and it told of tales that generations of Men can only write and read about in books, but which it had seen and lived through, and not found words to describe; in the blue eyes shone a depth of nobility and wisdom, but also love and sorrow immeasurable._

_No thanks were uttered by the two pairs of lips kissed by the rays of the sun, nor were there any pleas for forgiveness, nor expressions of regret. What do two say, who have seen and supported each other through moments so intense, and shared feelings so powerful that they fail to be captured in mere words? _

_The two figures grasped each other's hands tightly, letting silence express their most intimate thoughts, touching each other's minds and hearts. They shared one last tender, close embrace and gifted each other with heartfelt smiles hiding unspeakable pain. _

_Then they made one final exchange of pledges:_

"_Let this not be the end, dearest friend."_

"_It shall not be."_

"_In dream, I will say your name, and in dream shall we meet still." _

"_I will hear your call, even in the dark."_

"_When the seas and mountains fall, and we come to end of days, and all the ages of this world have passed, my friend, I will find you again."_

"_I will be waiting." _

_It was a parting so grievous yet so filled with love that it seemed to radiate its warmth to the cold stone walls of the room in which Elessar, Elfstone of his people, lay. His friend, Legolas of the Greenwood Realm, placed one last tearful kiss on the kingly forehead crowned with grey-white hair, and locked his blue eyes one final time with the misty grey ones of the man he would accompany in death if he could. _

_But he could not._

_This time, Estel would be leaving without him._

_Devastated by the realization that he and Estel would now have to make separate journeys, he tore himself away from the dying King and left him alone with his wife and children. __The elf had no words for Arwen, nor for the sons of Elrond; their embrace said all. Their shared sorrow and understanding, and their sense of loss, was complete. _

_Legolas stood alone on the balcony of his room at the Citadel – a room he would never occupy again – and looked out over the gardens he had helped create and would visit no more. Through the quiet tears that began to leak from his eyes, he spoke to his friend in his heart:_

_Estel, you once told me that when you thought I was stealing away, I left you in a place darker than night. Now – you are departing from me in the bright light of day, and with my full knowledge… yet I have gone to that very place where you were. It is darker than night here, Estel, and the darkness engulfs me…I cannot see my way… _

_The elf prince broke down then. His hands gripped the railing of the balcony till his knuckles were white, and he bowed his head and wept long and bitterly as he had never wept before, his tears flowing as freely as the waters of the Anduin in the distance. And all who happened to cast their eyes upon the elf prince that day saw not the wondrous fair being who had stood proudly beside their King, but only a broken figure, his radiance dimmed in the shadow of a grief that enshrouded him like death itself. _

_None – not even his father or his treasured dwarf companion – could pull him out from the chasm of black nothingness into which he was falling. _

_And Legolas himself knew: in the desolation that followed the departure of the friend he loved more than life, the only place where he would survive this loss was Valinor._

Only in Valinor…

Legolas opened his eyes again to behold a sky colored red with the blood of tears, and the wind on the open sea did little to soothe the intense ache in his heart. It was only later, as he sailed on under dark heavens encrusted with the jeweled lights of Varda, that he found a small measure of solace in a high beauty that no Shadow could ever touch. In his eyes was the radiance of the stars, but in his mind was the memory of that precious final pledge with a man who had been named _Estel. _No one could take that from them. Truly, he could now hold on to Hope.

When the ship left the bent confines of the world at last, and a curtain of silvery glass parted to reveal a far green country under a swift sunrise, the light of Valinor shone its brilliance across the distance to greet the grey ship and bless the elf prince's countenance with indescribable beauty and peace. The joyful cries of his father, his dwarf friend, and his elvish companions filled his ears, warming him, reminding him he would soon see loved ones welcoming them on sparkling white shores: his brothers, his kin, Gandalf, perhaps Frodo and Sam… and perhaps he would even see his mother in the Halls of Mandos. They would assure that he would never be alone.

Yet the thoughts of Legolas Greenleaf remained steadfast on one person, one whose physical form could not walk the shores with them but would still be with him each day in the Blessed Realm. For – no matter how long he lived – Hope would reside ever in his heart till they met again.

_Estel, my friend, even in Valinor shall I remember you, for no greater quality of heart and soul did I ever have the privilege to know. Many paths of life have I walked, many will I yet come to know, but ever will I be bathed in the light which you shone, and will continue to shine, on the long and blessed path of my immortal existence._

Standing just behind the tip of the sleek grey ship, he ran a long, slender hand lovingly along either side of the pointed end, knowing exactly what was emblazoned in the wood on each side of the prow: one, the emblem of the Mirkwood monarchy and personal insignia of the elf prince Legolas Greenleaf; and the other, the proud mark of King Elessar of Gondor, once a Ranger, always a most beloved friend.

He smiled quietly amidst his tears, and whispered to the Lord of the White Tree:

"We have arrived, Aragorn. We are home."

* * *

**FIN**

**_It's 2012, and I still respond to all reviews. _**

**_I poured many, many, many hours into the writing of this tale. _****_If you enjoyed it, please do leave a note, particularly if you are marking it as a favourite so that you can come back and read it. _**

* * *

_**Note: **And so we come to the end of this tale which, in the words of **Tinnuial**, was "inspired by a great friendship only hinted at in Tolkien's writing". _

_The dialogue in this chapter borrows lines from the beautiful song "In Dream" from the soundtrack of the Fellowship of the Ring. My thanks to the composer and songwriters. __Legolas' thoughts (in italics) were inspired by **Tinnuial**'s own short but lovely tale of the two friends: This is My Path. __I wish to thank other writers whose stories also inspired me, especially **Shaan Lien **and** Nightwing6**. _

_I wish to extend my heartfelt appreciation to all who have shared my journey with me, especially to those who have been regular reviewers, for you were as friends who gave me encouragement and the privilege of your companionship along the way – you kept me going. Hannon le, __my friends, and may we all find the kind of deep friendship and untainted love that this tale honors. _

_If and when I post another story, an Author alert will inform you of my next journey. And if I do, I hope you will walk with me again. _

_Till then, Namárië. _


	43. Tribute to Reviewers

**Tribute to Reviewers **

I poured almost all of my being into this story the past six months and am gratified by those who took time to send me responses.

So – here's a big THANK YOU to all of you – **_Hannon le – _**particularly those who have walked with me from beginning to end, and including all **anonymous** reviewers. And thank you to all those who put me on your '**favorites**' lists – I feel honored.

This is my humble acknowledgement of all the readers who have submitted reviews – **_if I have missed out any name(s), please, please, please let me know and accept my apologies_**. :–)

* * *

IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER

**_Acua / Livi: _**Thank you for reading and enjoying the story.

**_Ainu Laire_: **Didn't think the last two chapters wouldleave you hushed. :–) I look forward to more madness from you – perhaps in other stories.

**_Aislynn Crowdaughter: _**You were so mad at Aragorn, lol, but he was never bad. Just overwhelmed.

**_Alariel: _**Hope you continue to find strength through your story.

**_Alis world: _**Thank you for all your reviews and letting me know you enjoyed the story. Hope all is going well for you.

**_Alison H / Ali64: _**Thank you, Ali – you have faithfully sent me reviews from two sites and have been with me all through my journey. I have enjoyed your companionship.

**_AM: _**You, too, have been with me my entire journey. I always enjoy reading your reactions to the lines that you like in the story. :–)

**_Angel: _**Thanks for your reviews at both sites. :–)

**_AngelS: _**You're welcome, you're welcome, you're welcome, lol! Glad the ending pleased you.

**_Armyn: _**I appreciate your review.

**_becky553: _**Thank you for your review.

**_beling2:_** Thank you for reading and letting me know you enjoyed the story.

**_BitterLee: _**Though I had very little of your company, I appreciate it.

**_Black squirrel: _**Hey – still hoppin':–) I remember enjoying the language of your reviews – what excellent ones you wrote! Hope all is well with you.

**_blah blah: _**Hey, fellow LOTR addict. Hope you're getting enough fixes. :–)

**_Blaise: _**Thanks much for the review.

**_Booklover Fanatic: _**Thank you for reading and letting me know you enjoyed the story.

**_Brakensilver: _**Your reviews were greatly appreciated, especially the one in which you danced, lol.

**_Bulldogodiva: _**Thank you for your review.

**_Caunoiech: _**I remember your impassioned plea in Chap 14, lol!

**_Charlie: _**Haven't heard from you in a long while, but thank you for identifying the lines you liked, when you reviewed.

**_Ciryaquen: _**Your review was much appreciated.

**_Cloud 1-2-3: _**Thank you for dropping in.

**_crazypenguin4: _**Thank you for your review.

**_DarkStarofMirkwood: _**Loved all your reactions to the angst! Your company was much appreciated – thanks for staying till the end.

**_Dawn: _**Thank you very much for the interest you showed in the story and all your reviews.

_**Deana: **_You have been there from the beginning, dear girl – your spirit can never be dampened! And I think you still hold the record for the number of times you were the first reviewer for each chapter! Hugs

**_Deep Sorrow: _**Great to hear from you again at last. Thank you so much for your interest, and I hope my story did not give you deep sorrow. :–)

**_Elf771: _**Loved all your reactions to the angst! I had to smile at your own angst too, lol. Thank you for all your threats, 'curses' and support. :–)

**_eliza61: _**Your angst was always very amusing to me, lol. Thank you for your great company throughout my journey.

**_Elvendancer: _**Thank you for dropping in. Hope you're still dancin'. :–)

**_elvingirl3737: _**Nice to hear from you, thank you.

**_Emily: _**Thank you for your review.

_**Evergreene:** _I will always remember your rage at Sarambaq, lol. Will get to your stories as soon as I can.

**_Ezra-Asgard: _**You joined us late, but your company is appreciated. You think of this story as a legend … wow. My humble thanks to you.

**_Ferret: _**Thanks for stopping in to leave a review.

**_Gilraen Aclamense: _**Your review is much appreciated.

**_Harrowcat: _**Another one who hunted down this story at both sites – what a compliment. It was great having you, thank you.

**_Iavala: _**Wish I had had the pleasure of your company earlier, but thanks for leaving me a review even at the end.

**_Invisigoth: _**I shall look forward to your company again. :–)

**_Ithilien: _**I appreciate the insightful discussions I had with you.

**_Ithil-valon: _**Your kind words shall always ring in my heart, and your faith in me was a great support.

**_Jennifer: _**Thanks for stopping in to leave a review.

**_Jobuggy: _**I shall remember that you took the time to leave me a review even though you don't usually do reviews. :–)

**_Karriya: _**Your review is much appreciated.

**_Kelsey Estel: _**I am humbled by your praise; thank you. I don't think any of my later stories will be quite like this one into which I poured my passion and being. But I won't stop writing. I will also remember how you shared my delight in the elves of Ithilien. How sad that they have sailed… but perhaps I shall revive them in later stories. :–)

**_Kestrel of Valinor: _**Thanks much for the reviews you left.

**_Kingsfoil Grace: _**Thank you very much for your interest. I didn't have time then to consider posting at your site – but who knows now? ;–)

**_Kirsten: _**Thank you for your great support for much of my journey. Hug

**_Kirsten Z: _**I always had to make sure I was typing out the right name for you and Kirsten. You have been wonderfully supportive – thank you.

_**Kukumalu: **_Your name was always easy to remember. Would you like to know what your name means in the native tongue of one of the races in my country? Email me if you do. :–)

**_Kurafoxgirl: _**Loved your excitement. Thank you for the review.

**_Kuramasneko: _**Thanks much for the review.

**_Lalala bamba: _**I will remember how you said you hoped to be reviewer to be #15 for the chapter – and you were!

**_lembas7: _**Slothful! Slothful! LOL! It's a wonder you did not bring down hailstone and fire upon your head from all the Aragorn supporters who read the story. :–) Watch out for this term in my later stories – I shall do my darnedest to stick it in somewhere!

**_Leralonde: _**Sorry I gave you a headache over the last two chapters, lol. Hope it was worth it. Thank you for loving those two characters as much as I do.

**_Lili: _**Thank you for dropping in.

**_Lindahoyland: _**You stuck with me and enjoyed my tale even thought you don't like Legolas stories. It can't get much better than that. I am very touched – thank you.

**_Lindele: _**Hope I can make you cry again with other stories, lol.

**_Linwe: _**Thank you for your support.

**_Lola: _**Thanks for the review you left.

**_Lost- Elf: _**I am glad you appreciated the touch of 'hope' at the end – there is always hope. Thank you so much for your company.

**_Lyn: _**Thank you for your reviews and great observations.

**_Macie: _**For someone who found the story so late, you have given me great support – thank you.

**_Manderly: _**Thanks very much for the reviews you left.

**_Mari: _**I enjoyed your reviews immensely. Hope all is well with you.

**_Moe: _**You, too, were a strong supporter of the Kleenex industry, lol. Hope all is well with you.

**_Nautika: _**How you could bear to wait till the end (or close to the end) before reading the story, I'll never know! (Remember you said you were afraid it would be abandoned?) What resistance, lol! But thank you for sticking with me till the finish line.

**_Nclowe: _**Miss your 'predictions' – you were pretty good at them!

**_Neko of Doom: _**Hope you enjoyed the story to the end, thank you for dropping in.

**_Nevaratoiel: _**Your review was much appreciated.**_  
_**

**_OfPiratesAndElves: _**Glad you enjoyed the story. Thanks for the review.

**_Orla: _**Thank you for dropping in. :–)

**_Outofthebox: _**I miss your 'sticks.' You started a whole culture of 'stickiness' for the readers in those few chapters, lol.

**_Partheon: _**Aaaah, partheon… still awaiting the end of your story with bated breath. Thank you for your support.

**_Pellawethiel: _**Thank you for writing in. Still want to strangle Aragorn now? lol.

**_Po-Pla: _**Thank you much for your review. And if I issue a tissue warning next time – I guess you won't be reading the chapter at work, lol!

**_Rangerofthenorth: _**Hey, Ranger. Hope you are enjoying your Royal Bath and Glass Pool. Leave some Legolas for the rest of us. :–)

**_Raspberry: _**Hope you're not sticking your tongue out at me, Raspberry! Lol. Thanks for dropping in.

**_RDR: _**Enjoyed your reviews at both sites. Hope all is well with you. :–)

**_Red Squirrel: _**Will never forget how you went all the way to the campus – with a cold – to read a new chapter. That's commitment. :–) Thank you.

**_Robinscat: _**Will always remember how you spent half a night hunting down this story. You made me feel good. Thank you.

_**ROMAragorn: **Mae govannen. _You came late – but what an entrance – at both sites:–) No genius am I, but thank you for your kind words.

**_Ruth: _**I miss the cherries and other offerings you used to make, lol. This "cyber genie" is signing off for the moment.

**_Sabrina: _**Brina – you, too, have been a faithful companion on my journey. I treasured your company. _Hannon le._ And peace to you too.

**_Sarah: _**Thanks much for the review.

**_Sayre: _**Thank you for writing in.

**_Shaan Lien: _**Your reviews meant much to me. Long may your own stories inspire! So glad we can keep in touch via email. :–)

**_Shadowfax2931: _**Hey Amanda! Hope I can dedicate another birthday chapter to you in a different story. :–)

_**Sheikan:** _Good having you, thanks.

**_Slayer3: _**Long live the tissue industry as long as you are still around, lol! Glad you embraced your obsession at last.

**_SmilingDragonGirl: _**You came in halfway through my journey, but – boy! What an impact you have made. I have collected all your wet tissues :–) and will recycle them and ship them back to you for later use. Thank you so much for your company and entertaining reviews. Hugs

**_Snow-glory: _**Your company on my journey was wonderful. Thank you so much.

**_Soar: _**It has been wonderful having you on my journey – thank you. Hope to see you back in this part of the world some time in the future. And looking forward to updates from yourself.:–)

**_Solo23: _**Thank you for your review.

**_Star-Stallion: _**Your name reminds of Aragorn's Rallias, lol. It was great having you on my journey, thanks.

**_Stealth67: _**Your review was much appreciated.

**_Templa Otmena: _**I shall never forget your distinctly British exclamations! What a delight. :–)

**_Tinnuial: _**This was _my _path, Tinnuial – and you had a part in setting me on it. Thank you.

**_Tithen Min: _**Incredibly lazy or not – you appeared again at the end, lol. Thank you.

**_Viggomaniac: _**Aaah, what can I say? I am humbled by all your praise, but it is so sweet coming from an ardent fan of Aragorn's, and I am very grateful for your undying support. You are quite right: I poured my whole being, passion and love into this story, and what follows after will not be quite the same. But I shall keep writing to keep those two alive. I look forward to your company again.

**_Wantanelf: _**Hope you GET your elf, want-an-elf, lol. Thanks for your review.


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